


When the World Was Young, and so Were We

by Rhizza



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: And will be told from their perspective, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But the primary focus is on Artorias/Ornstein, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, I'm Bad At Summaries, M/M, Memory Alteration, My First Work in This Fandom, One-sided Ciaran/Artorias, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Rating May Change, Slow Build, So the start of the Age of Fire, Story begins ten years after the war against the dragons is won, This is going to be fairly long, This will follow all four of the knights and their interactions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhizza/pseuds/Rhizza
Summary: Adapting to life after the war against the everlasting dragons was more challenging than Ornstein ever imagined it would be. New problems arose at every opportunity and what little semblance of peace the world had now continued to be threatened at every turn. Ornstein was only thankfully that he no longer had to stand alone to combat it.





	1. The Years That Followed After

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! To preface this a little, I was recently re-playing my way through the series and the idea for this fic was born as a result. There truly isn't enough fanworks for this incredible series and its equally incredible yet tragic characters. It's been quite some time since I've written anything due to life events that prevented me from having adequate time to do so but things have since changed, so when this idea wouldn't leave my head I figured, why not? 
> 
> This is a sort of precursor story to the events of the series (I mean, way before, like at the very start of the Age of Fire where everyone is young and unaware of what's to come) and while I did a ton of research into the lore, locations, and backstories of every character featured, I am obviously going to take many liberties with this story but try to keep that information in mind. This story will primarily focus on Ornstein and Artorias and how they met and built a relationship but will also feature other important characters from the series as well that fit the narrative. 
> 
> I'm unsure how long this may turn out to be, but I tend to post really long chapters so that should be pretty telling. This first chapter is extra long as I wanted to establish the characters and the setting, but you can expect each chapter to be about this length as well. 
> 
> Of note, I tried writing this with thee/thou/thy/thine in it and well, got a headache. It threw off my tempo when writing and made the overall process lengthy and stressful rather than enjoyable so I will not be using these terms for the aforementioned reasons. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and pardon any mistakes you may stumble across. Comments and kudos are appreciated, I hope you enjoy! \\[T]/

Ornstein woke with a start, breath coming out in uneven gasps as his fists clenched the soft sheets that laid beneath him. He glanced around his chambers, relieved to realize he was, in fact, still safe in his room, safe in Anor Londo. Safe, he repeated to himself, there were no dragons here. No massive fangs that could crush boulders, no claws that could tear the earth asunder, and no fire that would roast his skin inside his armor until nothing but ash remained. 

He had not yet been born when the war against the everlasting dragons had begun, but he had helped see to that era's end. His accomplishments on the field of battle recognized by his lord alongside his fellow knight Gough. A fragment of a lord soul bestowed upon them both, a ring handcrafted with him in mind was the next gift he received, alongside a set of armor, freshly forged, that shone as if it were made of gold. His helm depicting the likeness of a lion, its teeth bared in an eternal snarl, adorned with a plume of crimson that cascaded down its back as if it were a mane of his own. 

Alongside his gifts he received many titles; Dragonslayer, First Knight of Lord Gwyn, Captain of the Knights...what he wished for, however, was the one thing he was yet to find. 

Peace of mind. 

It was difficult, he realized, to get the images of the Great Dragon War out of his head. The last battle of the war had come to a conclusion nearly a decade ago but he still found the frightful images it bored into his mind a constant enemy whenever he closed his eyes at night.

But alas, he was still a young man, after all, and while he knew his mind would mature in the years that would come and that he would undergo many more challenges, and endure many more hardships, he couldn't help but wonder if with that maturity and wisdom would come better coping methods. More compartmentalizing, less nightmares that left him soaked in sweat and shaking.

Many thought him fearless, his prowess in battle and skill with a spear easily leading the masses to such a conclusion, and he wondered what they would think if they could see him now. Eyes frightfully searching the dark, knuckles white, breath still as unsteady as when he had awoken so abruptly. He felt shame pool in his stomach and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

His hold on the sheets lessened and he ran a hand instead through his pale colored locks, golden eyes slipping shut as he eased himself back down onto the feathered mattress that lay beneath him. It contorted to fit his frame as it always did, a gentle embrace, yet lacking any warmth since the fire in his room had long since burned itself out and the cool winter air chilled everything from the stone floors to Ornstein's very skin.

He tried to force himself to think of other things, his mind drifting to his lord's firstborn, his one true friend, before a frown pulled on his face and left him feeling worse than before. When the war had neared its conclusion, the firstborn had decided that the actions the lords were taking were no better than the mercilessness that the world had showed their kind in the age of dragons and gray fog. He had purposed mercy, and despite Ornstein's best efforts to talk some sense into his liege and only companion, he had failed.

The statues were gone, his name, for some reason, Ornstein could no longer recall although it had not even been more than fifteen years since it used to pass through his lips so easily. Yet the memories remained, painful as they were. Ornstein could still see his friend's face, hear his voice...remember his transgression. He often wondered if Lord Gwyn had somehow selected what bits and pieces everyone was allowed to remember, it would make sense, for the sins to be remembered so that others dare not commit them, and that his name be forgotten so that it would shame him.

Ornstein wondered where his friend was now. If he had found the last of the fleeing dragons and had somehow made peace with them. He wondered if he was safe much like he was, perhaps laying down for the night in an equally soft bed under a detailed ceiling that decorated his room much like the Dragonslayer's own. He realized he wished to see him again, to speak and laugh together as they did in the days that came before the moment he was expunged from history.

He cursed himself for his train of thought and forced himself to sit up right. There was no use trying to sleep now, not after the nightmare that woke him and the memories that tore his heart in two different directions, duty bound to both parties no more...although he wished that were not the case.

With a sigh, Ornstein slipped out from under the covers, shivering violently at the cold that rushed over him. He made haste while dressing, fastening his armor on and grabbing his weapon, although most days he had no use for it, before heading towards the door. He nodded politely at the Silver Knights that were posted outside and asked a servant he passed to have the fireplace in his office, and his room rekindled -although he planned not on returning to the latter until the sun set once again. 

He watched the servant make haste, eager to get to the office before he did to fulfill the task he had been given and let out a deep breath he didn't realize he had been holding. The first marks of sunlight began to infiltrate through the castle's tall windows, and soon the castle itself would be awake and alive with servants, knights, handmaidens, and the gods themselves. He took a moment to appreciate the silence that hung in the air around him before forcing himself toward his office.

A short time ago he had enacted a plan to introduce more specialized units within Gwyn's ever growing army, and while he wished they had never had a need for assassins or knights specially trained to combat the new monstrosities that seemed to pop up out of nowhere and with frightening frequency, it became a necessity shortly after the units had been established. Recruitment was never his strong suit, although he could recognize talent when he saw it, and now was the time to appoint leaders for each respective unit.

He briefly considered ordering Gough to do the research on the potential candidates himself but immediately decided against it. This was part of his duty and an important facet of it at that, and while he trusted Gough second only to his Lord, he knew he'd never be satisfied with the results unless he did it himself.

When he arrived to his office, the fire had been lit, and the servant bowed politely before exiting as quickly as he had came. Ornstein removed his helmet and gauntlets, setting them to the side as he sunk down in his desk chair, fingers gingerly working through the stacks of papers before him. The lack of proper lighting made the task slightly more difficult than it should have been, which sent a tinge of irritation through him, but he forced it to the back of his mind, determined to complete his task. 

The files on his desk contained reports of respective knight company captains and their accomplishments, all seemed competent enough on paper but for the importance of the tasks Ornstein had in mind, he would need to find a perfect fit for each position. His lord had agreed to promote two new members to his small, elite company of knights alongside their simultaneous promotion as the leader of their respective units that they would oversee and meanwhile, Ornstein was inevitably tasked with overseeing everything and everyone.

As proud as that fact made him, he wondered if it were possible for a minor god to die of stress. He reasoned he shouldn't push his luck, and often reminded himself to take breaks to remember how to breath and channel his frustrations and worries into more productive channels. 

By the time the sun had risen, he had two files separated from the others that he planned on presenting to Lord Gwyn that afternoon.

One was of a small, young woman named Ciaran. She had been a member of Lord Gwyn's all female company of assassins for seven years, completing every mission given to her with ease and grace if the files were anything to go by. Ornstein made several marks by the more pressing facts in her document and felt confident that she would be an excellent fit to lead the Lord's Blades if her decision making skills were as strong as her portfolio. 

The other file was for a Silver Knight, a man by the name of Artorias. He was young, but his file was more decorated than most veterans, Ornstein noted. He had fought in the final two battles against the everlasting dragons, led multiple successful infiltrations and captures of questionable parties that had emerged once the dust of the war had settled. Had been the sole survivors of an incident that had occurred in the lower depths of the valley that lay beneath Anor Londo when a beast had emerged seemingly out of nowhere and wiped out the rest of the man's company. Yet, Artorias, according to the document, slayed it single-handedly. 

He had high expectations, that much was to be sure, but Ornstein felt confident in the two he had chosen and was sure that when he met with them to observe their skills and learn the way in which they operate, that he would not be disappointed. Feeling proud of the work he accomplished, and happy to be through the hundreds of other files that sat now forgotten on his desk, he refastened his gauntlets and secured his helm before grabbing the two files he had selected and tucked them securely under his arm. 

Grabbing his spear that sat forgotten by the door, he headed towards the main part of the castle where his lord's throne room sat. Massive doors opened instantly for him, the light inside the room making the dragonslayer squint his eyes. He walked carefully, his head held high, until he reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the throne that sat proudly above him, his lord seated there. Ornstein dipped into a low bow, only rising when his name was called.

“Sir Ornstein.”

“My lord,” Ornstein greeted in return, “I have completed the task you asked of me. I'd like to present my selections to you and ask for your permission to access them individually should they not be away fulfilling their usual duties.”

“Go on,” Gwyn nodded, waiting patiently for Ornstein to hand him the large files which appeared small in the Lord of Sunlight's hands. 

“Firstly is Lord's Blade Ciaran, a decorated officer in your lordships company of assassins, I've taken the liberty to mark her career defining accomplishments for easier perusing. Years of dedicated service and an one hundred percent success rate on the missions she has been tasked with led me to the conclusion that should she pass a mental and physical assessment, that she would make a fine knight of yours, my Lord.”

Ornstein gave a lengthy pause, allowing his lord enough time to browse the documents he held in his hands. 

“A fine choice,” Gwyn responded after some time, “permission received to access lady Ciaran. You may proceed with your second choice.”

Ornstein bowed his head slightly as he took Ciaran's folder from his lord and handed him the second, slightly larger file.

“The second is a Silver Knight by the name of Sir Artorias, the current leader of the fifth company charged with the patrol and protection of Anor Londo's west wing and the respective section of the valley below it. Whilst he may be young, he is a decorated knight with accomplishments spanning the time from the Great Dragon War to the most recent incident that took place in the lower valley where a beast said to have felled twenty knights was, if this document is to be believed, single-handedly slain by Sir Artorias afterward. There are marks from his fellow company leaders recognizing his skill with a wide variety of weapons and claiming him unrivaled with a greatsword, which he has not received any formal training for.”

“Sir Artorias is currently in the lower reaches of the valley,” Gwyn spoke suddenly, cutting Ornstein's train of thought off. “I dispatched him personally yesterday morn to deal with reports of a creature plaguing the citizens on the outskirts of one of the new townships. I expect his company to return within the week.”

Ornstein nodded his head in understanding.

“When he returns, I will see that he finds his way to you so that you may access him yourself. Your decision making skills and eye for potential are as brilliant as ever, my loyal knight. I trust your judgment and await the results of your assessment.”

“Thank you, my lord, for your trust and praise. I hope I do not disappoint you.”

“You have not yet disappointed me, Sir Ornstein. Even in our most trying hour, you remained ever loyal.”

Ornstein felt a pang of guilt and hurt flash through him, knowing immediately that his lord was referring to when he chose not to accompany his lord's firstborn when he left Anor Londo for good. Not for the first time, Ornstein was grateful for the helm he wore, lest his face betray the emotions he was trying so hard to suppress in his voice.

“I live to serve thee.” He managed out as he took a deep bow, recovered the file from his lord's hands and quickly fled the throne room. He let out a shaky breath as soon as the door closed, clutching the files close to his chest and his spear tightly in his other hand. Ornstein shook his head as if to clear it of all thoughts other than his duty and he forced his feet to carry him to the east wing of the castle, in search of Ciaran. 

When he arrived to the shared quarters of the Lord's Blades, he paused, being polite enough to not barge in to the women's quarters, their status as soldiers not lost on him but his chivalrous nature not allowing himself to be so rude because of his position. He waited outside the thick, iron door until it began to open, revealing a small woman in the trademark uniform of the Lord's Blades. She bowed immediately.

“Sir Ornstein,” she greeted, standing straight afterward. “How may I help you?”

“I'm here in search of Lady Ciaran,” he answered in return, “is she in?”

“Lady Ciaran has just returned from her post, please allow me to fetch her for you, Sir Ornstein.”

The dragonslayer nodded, watching as the door shut once again. He leaned against the opposing wall, feeling slightly fatigued from his less than peaceful night's rest. After a few moments had passed, which Ornstein spent wondering what Gough was up to beside his usual sentry duties rather than what he would say when Ciaran emerged, the door's handles turned.

Ornstein kicked off the wall behind him, standing up straight as the small figure emerged from behind the door. Ciaran, clad in her unit's uniform, face obscured by a blank porcelain mask, bowed as soon as the door behind her shut.

She was exceptionally small, the knight captain noted, when she stood at attention with her back completely straight, she barely reached just above Ornstein's hips. 

“Lady Ciaran, I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

“Not at all, Sir Ornstein.” Came the immediate response, her voice unwavering, her words articulated with great care and respect. “You have business with me, Sir?”

“A proposition for you regarding an open position within our Lord's personal company of knights, which would, in turn, grant you leadership of all units within your current company as well. That is, if you are willing to undergo an assessment and find the terms I have mentioned agreeable, of course.” Ornstein said, pondering what sort of emotions her mask was hiding in the few moments she took to process the information he had relayed to her.

“I'm honored to be considered for the position and humbly agree to undergo an assessment, sir,” she replied, her voice steady, showing no hint of whatever she may be feeling. 

“Then please follow me, if now is an acceptable time for you.” Ornstein began, shifting his weight to his other foot as he pivoted on his heel to turn down the hall after she nodded her head in agreement. 

\- - -

As it turns out, Ciaran was far more skilled than her portfolio gave her credit for. The time Ornstein spent observing her as she moved across the training yard was spent in awe as he watched her agilely progress across the yards expanse, moving silently yet with purpose as she completed every task he asked of her. 

Her blades cut with precision he rarely saw from even the most skilled of fighters, and each of her movements served a purpose, not once did she misstep, falter, or hesitate. Not even when he took it upon himself to test her skill. 

Switching from their usual weapons of choice to more dulled versions to prevent injury to one another, Ornstein held nothing back as he charged toward her, her lithe frame always seemingly out of his spears reach. Whenever he lunged she took it upon herself to duck under him, an ability afforded to her due to their great difference in stature. She always closed the distance, past his outstretched weapons and arms and aiming for his chest, the dull blades occasionally clinking against his breastplate when he found himself unable to backstep quickly enough.

She was alarmingly fast, and while Ornstein knew she meant no harm in a spar such as this, he knew that the blows that occasionally scraped against his shielded pectoral muscles were truly attempts to get to his neck. He landed a harsh blow to her midsection when she failed to read the feigned lunge he planned in order to test her further, but she recovered almost immediately, feet hitting the ground before she tumbled backwards in the air, landing on her feet as gracefully as a cat. 

“You have some skill,” he mused, stating the obvious in-between exchanges of their blades.

“You honor me, Sir Ornstein. You are quite the fearsome foe, indeed.”

In their next exchange, she attempted to get behind him, her blades barely missing the back of his knees, a blow that should it land -with a sharpened blade- would have left him falling to the earth and unable to stand once more. Her target prioritization changed from attempting what would be fatal blows in exchange for debilitating ones, ones that would leave a foe unable to defend themselves.

Ornstein smirked behind his helm, pleased to see her ability to adapt when her opponent outclassed her in both size and raw strength but could not keep up with her in terms of speed.

“I've seen enough, thank you, Lady Ciaran,” Ornstein said, watching her halt in place before bowing politely. “Very impressive. From our conversation earlier to the prowess you show in battle, I think you would make a fine addition to Lord Gwyn's company. I will pass my findings on to him, as the decision ultimately falls upon his shoulders.”

“You have my thanks, Sir Ornstein. It has been an honor and a pleasure to engage in both conversation and combat with someone such as yourself. You honor me with your kind words.”

“The hour has grown late, you must be exhausted. Get some rest, Lady Ciaran. I will report my findings to Lord Gwyn at first light, I expect he will call for you shortly after.”

“Indeed, I look forward to speaking with our Lord and hope I am able to meet his expectations.” Ciaran responded, her voice steady despite her small, labored breaths. 

“I think he will be more than pleased, fret not.” Ornstein offered as he sat his training spear back on its rack and grabbed his usual weapon from it. He took the training blades out of Ciaran's hands and replaced them with her own, earning a quiet thanks for the gesture. “Have a pleasant night, Lady Ciaran.”

“You as well, Sir Ornstein.”

The walk from the training grounds to Ornstein's personal quarters seemed to take longer than usual, his fatigue truly setting in as his muscles ached from the strain of combat. He made a mental note that he needed to work more on his own agility, judging by the way his legs shook from the strain it took whilst trying to keep up with the small assassin. Then again, he reasoned, he would never be as fast as she was and that he should curb his expectations instead of berating himself for something he was physically unable of accomplishing. 

When he finally arrived at his door, nodding at the sentries posted outside it, he was relieved to discover that the fireplace was still ablaze, basking the room in both warmth and light. He groaned as he laid his spear down on its stand, his arms aching as he reached to detach his armor. Once it was in its rightful place, he ran a hand over the red tunic that he wore underneath it, noting that both he and it would benefit from a wash, but that he lacked the strength for it. A task best saved for tomorrow, he concluded. 

The moment he slipped underneath the thick blankets that covered his mattress he felt a pang of worry creep into the back of his mind, and he said a quick prayer to all the gods he could think of that his nightmares of times already passed didn't plague him like they tended to do. His mind quickly flickered to the thought of the paperwork that would surely await him in the morning, having spent the vast majority of the day with Lady Ciaran. 

He mused to himself that he really should find and appoint an assistant before finally closing his eyes, trying to take his mind off of work and nightmares and old memories, which even in these days of peace, was a task easier said than done.

\- - - 

When dawn broke, Ornstein headed for the baths, surprisingly well rested and feeling better than he had in quite some time. He nodded politely at those he passed on his way to the outdoor bath, whose waters were always warm despite how cold the weather turned, and was even more pleasantly surprised when he realized he had the usually full bath all to himself. 

He quickly stripped, setting aside his armor and fresh tunic he had brought with him, and eagerly sunk into the warm water beneath him. He groaned at the pleasant feeling, sinking further in until he was completely submerged, soaking his golden hair, before he came back up for air. Hands reaching behind him to a rock where the soap was sat alongside a towel he had brought for himself. 

He made quick work of washing his hair and skin, feeling better once the grime had been washed away by the blue waters of the bath. He allowed himself to relax for a moment, golden eyes staring up at the clear sky and the sun that shone so brightly. He often wondered what life was like before it, Lord Gwyn had been around during that time but never spoke of life before he acquired his lord soul. Ornstein figured it was for a good reason, and as a result, never asked for details of such a dark time for their kind.

When the chilly air began to cool his skin, he begrudging slipped out of the water. Quickly drying himself and slipping into his tunic before he worked a towel through his hair, attempting to dry the damp locks the best he could. When he felt his work was sufficient, he began pulling on his armor. Fastening it where necessary before slipping on his boots and helm, he reached for his dirtied tunic and headed back to his chambers, dropping it off for the servants to wash and in order to grab his spear before he headed to his lord's throne room. Ready to relay his findings after his encounter and assessment with Ciaran the day prior. 

When he arrived, the doors were closed, but this time did not open for him. He spared a glance to the Silver Knights posted outside of the massive doors, one of which bowed deeply before speaking. 

“Sir Ornstein,” he greeted, his voice deep yet filled with a slight edge as if he was nervous addressing the dragonslayer. “Lord Gwyn is currently meeting with a returning knight company, please allow me a moment to announce that you have arrived as well.”

“Very well,” Ornstein replied. Resisting the urge to shift his weight from one foot to the other, although he wasn't impatient by any means, he was eager to return to his office and begin catching up on the work that had surely piled up from his absence yesterday. 

The Silver Knight cracked open the door and quickly ducked inside, his voice mumbled, nearly inaudible behind the thick iron door. When he emerged he held the door open wide enough for Ornstein to pass through. 

“Thank you for waiting, Sir Ornstein. Lord Gwyn is ready to see you now.”

Ornstein nodded slightly, stepping past the knight as he entered the brightly lit throne room. On the throne itself his lord sat, proud and tall, nodding his head in the form of a greeting to his knight, Ornstein responded with a respectful bow before his eyes flickered to the man that stood just below the throne, wearing Silver Knight's armor.

As Ornstein got closer he realized how tall the knight was, at least half a foot taller than himself which he found a slight bit strange. Ornstein was usually at least a foot, if not two, taller than most men in Gwyn's army, and towered over the citizens that lived in the townships and cities that laid beneath Anor Londo. The man had a greatshield strapped to his back, another thing he found strange, especially considering it was not standard issue to any Silver Knights, yet it bore their insignia, indicating their blacksmith had indeed forged it.

Even stranger was the greatsword that sat on the man's back beside it, a sword nearly as tall as its wielder, with intricate details woven into its steel, yet it bore the same mark of familiarity that all weapons smithed by Gough's acquaintance had. Ornstein put the pieces together before his lord even spoke.

“Excellent timing as always, Sir Ornstein. This is Sir Artorias, who I had just informed of your inquiry yesterday morn.” 

“It it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Ornstein. I am humbled by the praises you bestowed upon me and am more than willing to prove that I am capable of whatever task is given to me.” The knight, Artorias, spoke. His voice was more youthful than Ornstein felt it had any right to be, but his manner of speaking and the low bow he offered him were nothing short of respectful and polite. He nodded his head at the greeting. 

“Likewise, Sir Artorias. If our lordship,” Ornstein spared a glance at Gwyn, “has no more business with you and you are not too tired from your travels, please meet me in my office in an hours time. I'd be happy to discuss this with you more at length then and begin your assessment.

“Our business had just concluded,” Gwyn confirmed with a nod of his head. “Excellent work on your mission, Sir Artorias.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Artorias responded with another low bow before shifting his attention to Ornstein. “I am not too tired, sir. I shall meet you there at the specified time.”

Ornstein nodded his head in confirmation as Artorias politely excused himself, he didn't begin speaking again until he and his lord were alone in the room.

“My lord, I'm here to report on my results of Lady Ciaran's assessment.”

“Go ahead.”

“As her profile suggested, she is an incredibly capable assassin and fighter, she completed every task I gave her without failure and was capable of standing up against myself for an extended period of time. Her style of fighting is befitting of the order in which she serves and her calm, calculated nature leads me to believe she'd do well under pressure when forced to make important decisions. I fully endorse her and think she would be more than capable in the position.”

“I see, thank you for your extensive report and attention to detail whilst narrowing down candidates. I will arrange to meet with Lady Ciaran this afternoon and make my decision then.”

“I'm glad to be of service, my lord.” Ornstein paused for a brief moment before continuing, “if I may, my lord, I wish to inquire about Sir Artorias.”

Gwyn nodded his head slowly, giving permission.

“Firstly, my lord, where did he come across such...personalized weaponry? I find it strange I had not noticed someone of his stature and background walking around the castle prior to this moment.” 

Lord Gwyn let out a noise that sounded almost like a chuckle, making Ornstein's eyes go wide, and he soon found himself flushing in embarrassment for asking such a nonsensical question. He was once again saved by the helm that obscured his face, that much was not lost on him.

“Sir Ornstein, while I expect you to know the ins and outs of the army at large and at least have a general idea of their day to day tasks, I do not expect you to memorize every member of my forces, not even ones that stand out as much as Sir Artorias.” The hint of amusement in his lord's voice further fueled his own embarrassment.

“Sir Artorias simply asked for such weaponry, the west wing's overseer found it an odd enough request to put in an official inquiry as to whether or not it was allowed and I saw no reason to decline when I was informed of the man who would be wielding it. So long as it does not affect their duties, I do not mind what weapons my knights choose to arm themselves with.”

“I see, thank you for the information, my lord.” Ornstein said carefully, processing the information and making sure to articulate each word as to not hint at his previous embarrassment. 

“His mission in the lower valley was completed in record time,” the Lord of Sunlight continued, “not that I expected anything less from such a capable knight. I had been considering promoting him long before his file wound up on your desk, but I wanted to see what your opinion on his abilities was first and if you think he's ready for the job. Making the leap from company captain to my personal knight is no small feat, but you of all people should be familiar with that feeling.”

The fact that Lord Gwyn had considered Artorias for promotion long before Ornstein was charged with the task did not surprise him, per se, but did reaffirm the feeling he got when he had read over the man's background. He was indeed an interesting man, interesting enough to wield weapons no one else touched in Anor Londo, and to alone slay a beast that not even twenty men could slay before him. It was no wonder word had reached Lord Gwyn of the knight Artorias. It only bothered Ornstein how he had never heard of either Artorias and Ciaran, two perfectly capable and seasoned knights, before he poured through the archives of decorated officers. 

He reasoned that maybe, his lack of a social life played a small part in the fact the stories of others triumph and success never reached his ears. It made sense for Lord Gwyn to learn of such individuals, any gossip that took place in Lordran always seemed to reach his ears, but Ornstein didn't like to think he knew so little of the soldiers he commanded. 

The reports that reached his desk were always to the point, left a majority of names out, and only contained important facts and critical information. He knew it was for his own convenience, considering he had thousands of reports to read every year and other things that required his attention, but it slightly bothered him in a way he never thought it would. For a moment, he felt a pang of...loneliness. 

“Sir Ornstein?”

His lord's words bringing him back to the present, the dragonslayer quickly bowed and muttered out an apology. 

“Forgive me, my lord. I was lost in a train of thought, I hope I did not offend you.”

“Nonsense,” was the immediate reply. “However, you should make haste to your office. There is work to be done, and I would like your report on Sir Artorias by the morning. Should my meeting with Lady Ciaran go well and I decide to appoint her as my knight, I will inform you at once. Should Sir Artorias also meet the requirements and be promoted, we will host a ceremony for them both by the end of the week.”

“I understand, my lord. I will get to work immediately and report back to you at first light. I hope your meeting with Lady Ciaran goes well, my lord. If you would excuse me,” Ornstein bowed low, waiting for the small nod of his lord's head to dismiss him before he headed toward his office. Grimacing at his lack of control over his own emotions in the moments that passed beforehand.

Loneliness was not a foreign concept to him, he had felt it when his parents had parted ways with him so that he could be trained to fight against the beasts that oppressed them. He had also felt it when he was naïve enough to get close to the men and women in his first unit, none of which lived beyond the first year they spent on the battle field; and again when his lord's firstborn had departed and his name had slipped his memory. 

However, this was the first time in a long time that he acknowledged it. He knew he was being ridiculous, and yet he couldn't deny that it was an emotion that truly bothered him. His work was solitary and rarely left room for social interaction aside from with his lord, and he rarely saw Gough these days, with the giant occupying another section of the castle entirely and with his own duties to tend to, but it still bothered him nonetheless. 

But alas, he had work to do and an interview to conduct, so he did what he had done for many years and pushed his feelings to the side, choosing to focus on his duty instead.

After arriving as his office, he was disappointed, but not surprised, by the sheer abundance of inquiries, reports, and mission updates that sat on his desk. Setting his gauntlets, helm, and spear aside, he sunk into his office chair and got to work immediately, killing time whilst being productive as he awaited Artorias' arrival.

Five minutes before his guest was due in, Ornstein flipped through his file once more, slipping a blank page at the back of it to provide room for his own assessment. He'd begin with an interview in his office, much like he did with Ciaran, before moving him over to the training grounds to test his mettle. He briefly wondered what combat against Artorias would be like, he figured his style would be similar to his own, relying on strength and size to get the job done rather than sheer speed like the little assassin favored. 

Temporarily lost in his own thoughts, he barely registered the sound of a knock that echoed throughout his office. 

“Come in,” he called, straightening his back out until it pressed flat against the back of the chair. 

“Hello, again, Sir Ornstein. I hope I'm not late,” came the immediate reply as Artorias stepped through the door, his Silver Knight helm held in his hands, and a set of sparring weapons strapped to his back. 

The first thing about Artorias that Ornstein noticed was a set of piercing blue eyes staring back at him, so deeply shaded that the dragonslayer swore they'd put the waters that ran beneath Anor Londo to shame. His skin was pale and his hair was as dark as the night sky, the light that reflected on it from Ornstein's office window giving the illusion it was tinged with the same deep shade of blue that shown in his eyes. Ornstein tore his eyes away, clearing his throat slightly as he scorned himself for staring.

“You're just on time, Sir Artorias. Please have a seat,” Ornstein said with a wave of his hand, gesturing towards the chair that sat directly opposite of his own. 

“My thanks, Sir Ornstein.”

Ornstein watched him carefully, noticing that while he hesitated none and remained ever as polite, that his hands were shaking slightly as he hoisted his massive weapon and greatshield from his back and sat them on the ground beside his helm. Once Artorias was seated, the dragonslayer frowned when he noticed the jitters that ran through the other man's body had not faded any.

“No need to be nervous,” he offered, giving the other a considerate look. “From everything I've heard and read about you, you have no reason to be anything but confident.”

“Ah, well, Sir Ornstein...it is for that very reason that I am nervous. I don't want to disappoint you nor our lord.”

“Have you ever?” Ornstein challenged with a raised brow.

“I suppose not, however I'd like to avoid this very important moment being the first time that I do, Sir.” Artorias answered sheepishly, turning his head to the side for a brief moment as if to hide his own embarrassment. “Forgive me, Sir. I promise I'm not usually like this.”

“You just returned from a rather dangerous mission, must be exhausted from the battle and your travels, and were bombarded with the possibility of a promotion the very moment you arrived home, if you weren't the slightest bit reeled I'd presume you had no heart to feel or brain to think.” 

This got a small chuckle out of the Silver Knight, which seemed to put the rest of his nerves at ease.

“You're very much correct, Sir Ornstein. I appreciate the sincere understanding you've shown me. I'm ready to begin whenever you are, Sir.”

“But of course,” Ornstein replied, opening to the blank page he had slid into the knight's portfolio earlier and grabbing a quill from his desk. “Firstly, I want to ask about a topic that may be a bit sensitive for you, as it is for many. I hope I do not offend you with this line of questioning and if I do, you have my sincerest apologies.”

“I'm open to discuss anything, Sir. Please, do go on.”

“You took part in the final two battles of the Great War, what were your specified duties? All this record says is that you helped slay at least three dragons, which while impressive, is neither detailed nor helpful when determining what skills and jobs best suit you.”

“In the first battle I partook in, I was the lieutenant of the seventh company, our position was in the vanguard,” Artorias began, that information causing Ornstein to wince slightly. The vanguard was no place to be for a new solider, which meant two things; one, he was in the second wave that was sent when the first had crumbled, a wave that consisted of only a handful of veteran captains and entirely new soldiers comprising the rest whose purpose were to distract the dragons from what was yet to come. Secondly, it was Ornstein's plan that put him there. As canon fodder. Whatever came next, he already felt guilt pooling in his stomach.

“I helped devise a plan with my captain that would include a rendezvous with whatever may remain of squad four...however, he panicked when our target, the dragon, cornered us. I wish I had acted sooner, perhaps so many people wouldn't have died if I had...but ultimately, with our leader gone and half the squad either injured and unable to fight back or...dead, I led what was left of us to the rendezvous point. We collectively targeted a specific area of the beast and when its scales parted, I delivered the final blow.”

“I was promoted when I came back, and I'm...somewhat happy to report I only lost five of my men in the final battle. I suffered a minor injury at the very end, got a bit ahead of myself when approaching the felled beast and didn't think it capable of taking a swipe at me, but I learned my lesson then.” Artorias chuckled, despite the unpleasantness of the memory. Ornstein could sympathize with that.

“I see,” Ornstein mused as he wrote down his observations, making note of the other knight's ability to act quickly and make important decisions under immense amounts of pressure. That was by no means a common trait and had undoubtedly saved many of lives. “We'll move on now, thank you for being so open about this, Sir Artorias.”

“But of course, Sir Ornstein,” Artorias replied immediately, a small smile crossing his features though his eyes didn't shine as brightly as they did before, Ornstein thought.

“Where did you learn how to wield a greatshield and greatsword?”

“I'm self taught, Sir.” 

Ornstein raised his brows at that.

“I was always quite tall and the standard issue straight sword always felt rather...small for me. I broke several of them, swung them too hard or pierced a foe too deeply...I saved up enough money to ask the smith to make me a set to train with, when I felt comfortable enough, I asked an overseer if I could have an official set forged...never did I think such a small inquiry would reach Lord Gwyn but apparently its not often many knights ask for new weapons because they are too strong for the ones they wield.” 

Ornstein bit back a smile, “you certainly are an interesting, man, Sir Artorias. I'm shocked I had not heard your name sooner.”

“I'm afraid I'm not all that interesting, Sir Ornstein. Gossip would have you believe many tall tales, the truth is not often as exhilarating.” Artorias laughed.

“Would you say the same about the tales they sing about me?” Ornstein inquired curiously, shutting the file on his desk, his decision nearly made up before they even hit the training grounds.

“Of course not, Sir Ornstein. Unless you mean to tell me you actually aren't capable of cleaving a mountain in two with a single swing of your spear?” Artorias' face was sincere, not at all betraying the amusement that was not so easily hidden in his voice. Ornstein chuckled slightly at that, a genuine sound that surprised not only his guest but Ornstein himself. 

“You might be disappointed,” Ornstein finally answered in response once his breathing had evened out again. “Shall we hit the grounds? I'd like to see for myself what you're capable of.”

“It would be my honor, Sir,” Artorias replied with a sincere smile, only moving for his gear when Ornstein had already stood and began to gather his own.

The walk towards the training yard was silent aside from the clank of metal that echoed from their armor every time they took a step. Ornstein was thankful for the silence, finding it the perfect time to finish deciding what sort of drills he'd ask the Silver Knight to perform. Artorias didn't seem to mind either, although he said otherwise, Ornstein found it rather obvious that the knight was tired and wary from his travels. 

When they stepped foot into the open and empty courtyard, Ornstein bit his lip from the chill of the outside air before he waved to a line of training dummies that sat in a row against the ground's back wall. Artorias nodded silently, moving to stand before them and await further instructions. 

“Of course, training dummies are not going to be your opponent for the day, but I'd like to see your technique before we spar. You may begin whenever you're ready.” 

Ornstein took a seat at the far end of yard, nestling himself in on a bench seat that was carved from marble stone. He shivered slightly as the metal of his armor began to cool under its icy embrace. Artorias nodded once again before pivoting around on the ball of his foot, gracefully drawing his greatsword at the same time and using his earlier momentum to perform a spin, one in which his blade was full extended, a blur of motion that left both dummies knocked over, stuffing billowed out of a set of deep gashes made in their canvas covering despite the dull edge of Artorias' training blade. 

He watched the knight, without missing a beat, vault himself backwards, moving far more agilely than Ornstein originally thought would be possible for the incredibly tall man. Each movement was purposeful, each spin, or flip, jab, or charge powerful and graceful and seemingly impossible. It was as if gravity were nothing more than a mere suggestion for Artorias, Ornstein mused to himself, as he watched the larger man vault not once, or twice, but three times into the air, bringing down the massive sword on the crumbled dummies' body time and time again with acute precision. 

If Ciaran had been impressive for her speed, precision, and decision making, Artorias was impressive for his strength, unorthodox yet deadly capabilities, and enough grace that he truly would put anyone else, even Ciaran, to shame. 

When the dummies all laid toppled in the courtyard and all that was left to observe was the way Artorias' gently panted for air and the carnage that laid on the earth in the form of feathers and other means of stuffing, Ornstein had to remind himself to form words. 

“That was only a training sword, yes? How did you manage to slice them open?”

A silly question, perhaps, but Ornstein was utterly in awe. 

“Ah, my apologies, Sir Ornstein. I've never been good at measuring my own strength, or limiting it, for that matter.” Came the almost sheepish reply, as if it was something Artorias was acutely aware of, almost like it bothered him. Ornstein rose to his feet immediately, heading for the weapons rack where he exchanged his spear for an unsharpened one. He took a step forward, his new spear pointed at the ready, Artorias nodded his head in understanding.

“Whenever you're ready.”

Artorias didn't need anymore of a invitation. 

The first swing of the greatsword met Ornstein's spear with a brutal, resounding clank. Both of their weapons vibrating from the force before they parted, distancing themselves once again as they sized each other up, reading one another's movements. 

Ornstein took the initiative, lunging to close the distance, his spear's dull point ramming into the previously unused greatshield with a thunderous thud. Artorias returned the mock aggression, cleaving his blade through the air in the moment it took Ornstein to recover, forcing him to back off or take the full brunt of the blow. 

Ornstein tried to piece together an opening in his mind, realizing that although he wielded the longer weapon, Artorias' reach would match his own when taking into account the length of his limbs and the massive blade he wielded. The greatshield was another obstacle, allowing the Silver Knight the ability to bunker down behind it should he not find the agility to dodge an incoming attack. 

Ornstein made note of that, how Artorias utilized the perfect mix of aggression and defense on opponent's that posed a greater risk. The reckless abandon in which he gracefully dispatched the training dummies was not abandoned in its entirety, Ornstein learned that the hard way when the other knight pivoted on his heels immediately before diving forward, the dragonslayer's spear barely catching the dull edge of the greatsword's blade, but Artorias was calculated, weighing risk and reward with every movement. 

After a moment, Ornstein forgot why they were even sparring in the first place. 

Artorias was a challenge unlike any other he had encountered before. He didn't breathe fire or have impenetrable defenses, but he was imposing and near lethal even with a dull blade. It was a feat Ornstein never considered before, but Artorias made it seem possible. 

Ornstein lunged once again, finding a small gap in the other knight's defenses in between swings and flips and flashes of silver, but the point of his spear caught on hard steel, the other man's strength forcing it away from him, the tip of a greatsword gently tapped against his breastplate as he found himself wide open. He, as uncharacteristic of himself as it was, found himself grinning underneath his helm. 

“You're an excellent fighter,” Ornstein managed out as the blade was lowered, his spear's point sliding down the other's shield to rest softly on the frozen grass below them. Artorias let out a small laugh that was covered mainly by his labored breath.

“You honor me with your praise, Sir Ornstein,” was the immediate reply, the Silver Knight dipping into a low bow. “I've looked up to you for quite some time, I must confess, so to have your praise is truly remarkable.”

Despite himself, Ornstein felt his cheeks flush in a way that was neither from the cold nor the exhaustion of combat.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” the dragonslayer mumbled out, earning another laugh from the taller man in front of him.

“Ah, but it was worth an attempt,” Artorias chuckled. “I hope I am not a disappointment to you, though, Sir. I truly do wish to be worthy of your praise and Lord Gwyn's recognition.”

“Then you have nothing to fear, I assure you.” Ornstein replied, bowing slightly at the other knight as a sign of respect for having lost their duel. “Of course, the decision ultimately falls upon our lord's soldier, but I am...impressed, Sir Artorias. I will be reporting my findings come first light, until then...you are dismissed. You must be exhausted, do find some rest. You deserve it.”

“You have my thanks, Sir Ornstein,” came the immediate reply. “I look forward to speaking with our lord and hope he finds me worthy of the position.”

“I have no doubt that he will,” Ornstein answered, knowing it was out of line, but finding it hard to hide the truth. “I look forward to hearing the results.”

“Thank you again, Sir Ornstein. I hope...I hope we can spar again sometime, it's been awhile since I've enjoyed myself that much.” Artorias said sheepishly, latching his weapon and shield to his back as he bowed once again. “I appreciate your time and consideration, Sir.”

Ornstein nodded, all to aware of the small smile that played on his lips as he watched Artorias leave the training grounds, his own limbs still shaking from the adrenaline that had yet to wear off. 

\- - -

When first light came, Ornstein found himself in front of his lord once more, pleased to hear Lady Ciaran would indeed be promoted and that his lord was pleased with his candidate. Ciaran was deserving and capable, Ornstein was sure she would be an excellent addition alongside himself and Gough. 

“And Sir Artorias?” Lord Gwyn began, glancing down at Ornstein who stood at attention beneath the steps to his throne. “Have you finished your assessment?”

“I have my lord.” 

“What we're your thoughts?”

“He's...” Ornstein began, recalling the events of yesterday with a level of fondness he hadn't felt since the days he spent training with Lord Gwyn's firstborn, “an excellent warrior. Sir Artorias is an incredibly skilled fighter, managing even to parry one of my attacks and use it as an opening to showcase that he would be capable of dealing the final blow. He's an excellent leader who prioritizes the safety of his own men and the completion of his tasks above glory, and his ability to preform well under pressure is worthy of noting. I fully endorse him for the available position, my lord.”

“I see,” came the immediate response from Gwyn, a small smile playing at the corner of the lord's lips. “I'm glad to know you have come to the same conclusion I have, my most loyal and trusted knight. I will speak with Sir Artorias later in the day, although that is more of a formality at this point.” 

Ornstein nodded respectfully, a feeling of pride swelling in his chest as his task was, at last, completed. With a nod of dismissal from his lord, Ornstein headed back toward his office, all too keenly aware of the seemingly endless amount of work that would inevitably be there waiting for him. Surprisingly, he found he didn't mind.


	2. To Secure Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! Sorry this is out a bit later than I would have liked, I've had a bit of a cold all week and found it impossible to write anything I felt good enough about posting on here (RIP to the three other drafts and the 10k words they contained). Things will begin to pick up a bit more after this chapter, but I wanted to finish establishing the timeline and events yet to come whilst wrapping up loose ends from the previous chapter/making some parallels between the different perspectives. I gave this a re-read to check for errors but there could be others that I missed so please pardon any mistakes you may stumble across. That all being said, thank you guys so much for the support on the first chapter of this, it means a lot to me. Anyway, without further ado, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

From the very moment word of his promotion spread, Artorias felt as if time had somehow accelerated itself. Everything passed by in a blur, the days seemingly molding together into one until it was officially the day of his promotion ceremony. It was still hard to grasp, he thought, as he stared up at the ceiling of his new room. He had never expected any of this, never strived for anything of the sort, he was always content to just accomplish the tasks he had been given, and yet recognition had found him anyway. 

He wondered if that was often how that sort of thing worked, that those who sought power never truly found it and those who sought only results were always the ones who did. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he supposed it didn't matter. He was grateful for the opportunity he had been given and only hoped he would continue to live up to the expectations Lord Gwyn and Sir Ornstein had for him. He could think of nothing that frightened him more than the prospect of disappointing those he looked up to.

He was in no rush to get out of his new bed, its warm feathered interior contorting to support his frame, his new set of soft linens keeping the cold winter air at bay with the aide from the fire that raged on in its confides across from where he laid. 

His new quarters were a bit lavish, he thought, with paintings of Anor Londo and the surrounding areas that fell under its purview decorating the walls and surrounded by many pieces of hand carved furnishings that took up the rest of the room's expanse. He wondered if he'd ever have a need for two large dressers or a wardrobe. His own personal belongings fit into a singular small box that laid by his bedside, the rest of the boxes containing items he had been given from his lord to decorate his new living area as he saw fit. 

While the room was nice, the privacy it afforded him was even nicer. He was used to sharing a room this size with twenty other men, to have it to himself felt strange, but welcome. He smiled as he looked around him. Grateful didn't even begin to describe it, he thought to himself. He felt blessed...and realized that perhaps he actually was. 

Artorias stretched out across the mattress, his smile widening when he realized his feet didn't hang off of this mattress like they used to on his old one. While everything else that occurred felt surreal, he took some comfort in the little things, allowing himself to just take a few moments to take everything in. 

He knew some men liked to hide their emotions, push them to side and never confront them, and perhaps that worked for them, but for Artorias, it had always felt better to just feel them. Every anxiety, ever fear, every joy, every bit of gratitude and pride. He didn't necessarily express them, living with so many others hadn't allowed much time or space for that, but he didn't ignore them entirely either. Another reason to be grateful for the privacy, he reasoned, no more hiding things from himself.

As he rolled over to stare out of the large glass windows that sat opposite of his bed, he realized the sun was barely over the horizon. The gala wouldn't be held until it began to disappear behind the mountains once more, and yet, his nerves already began to creep up, causing a lump to rise in his throat. He forced himself to take a deep breath, sighing as he ran a hand through his slightly tangled hair. 

He began to replay bits of information in his mind in an attempt to quell his nerves instead of ignore them. He knew what his job was and what his tasks would be, he knew he was expected to report to Sir Ornstein, his new Captain, once a week to go over everything his units handled in the days prior, and he knew he was to be responsible for training his new, specialized units in order to combat the monstrosities that began causing issues as of late.

It sounded simple enough, he told himself, it wasn't much different than what he had already been doing after all. But a small part of him refused to listen. Artorias let out a huff of air, reasoning it would fade as soon as the ceremony concluded. The rest he'd deal with as it came, if he made mistakes he'd correct them, he'd learn as he went and become wiser in time. Besides, he wasn't solely responsible for everything, he could go to any of his fellow knights for assistance, they had all said as much.

Thinking of the other unit leaders, he wondered how Ornstein managed to keep it together. The man always seemed to be working and the number of responsibilities he had would drive lesser men to fling themselves from the highest point of Anor Londo. It was impressive and one of the many reasons Artorias looked up to him, he could only hope he handled his position with half as much grace as the Knight Captain. 

A small knock pulled him from his thoughts and back into reality, a quiet “one moment” escaping past his lips as he forced his body out of bed, groaning at the lack of heat as his covers slid off of him. He slid a tunic over his head and fixed his hair as well as he could before he answered, slowly revealing a man in Silver Knight's armor. 

“Sir Artorias, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm here to deliver a gift from Lord Gwyn,” the man informed him with a low bow, his hands reaching for a large box that sat on the floor in front of him after Artorias returned the greeting. 

“Thank you,” Artorias mumbled sleepily as he took the large package from the other man, curiosity peaked. The man quickly excused himself and Artorias re-locked his bedroom door, setting the package on a small table that sat opposite of a couch on the right side of his quarters. He pursed his lips as he opened it, setting the wooden lid aside as the items the crate held were revealed. 

Artorias felt his breath hitch as his fingers met cool steel, his fingers curling around and lifting out a helm that bore a black plume cascading down its back. The silver metal in the front ended in a detailed, sharp point that reminded him immediately of a beak from a bird. Underneath it was a dark blue wrap he realized immediately was to be worn under it. He ran his fingers down its intricate metal work, marveling at the craftsmanship as his eyes poured over every inch of it.

After taking it in, he allowed himself to move on, grabbing the rest of the armor from its confides and paying it equal attention. The mix between shining steel and blue cloth was breath taking, he admitted to himself as he found a smile growing on his lips. It was a set of armor unlike any he had ever seen before, crafted specifically for him, the order given to the smith's by none other than Lord Gwyn himself. Pride swelled in his chest as he gazed upon it. A set unique to him, a set befitting for a Knight of Gwyn, he could think of no greater gift. 

He spared a glance back at his old set, a standard issue set of armor for any Silver Knight, and reminded himself to find somewhere nice to display it. While he was sure he'd never have use for it again, he didn't want to part ways with it either. It had carried him through some of the best and worst times and deserved to be respected, he thought, as silly as that thought might seem to some. 

Turning his attention back to the set at hand, Artorias began to slip it on, elated when the clasps closed with ease and every thing fit in a much more flattering and less clunky way than his old set. As he slipped the blue cloth around his head before securing his helm, he turned to face the floor length mirror that sat near his bed. He felt his breath hitch once again as he admired it, taking in his reflection, knowing full well that this set of armor would forever be seared into his and many others memories. 

He turned his attention from the mirror to his sword and shield that were laid across the couch, smiling to himself as he lifted them from their seat. He glanced back at himself one last time, eyes raking over every nick and groove etched into his sword and shield, remembering -however vaguely- every encounter that earned them their place there, forever embedded in steel. 

These too would join his old armor, he recalled, his lord would present him with a new set when dusk fell, and he reminded himself to make room for them as well, these he'd feel worse about for throwing away than he would his old set of armor. 

Begrudgingly he sat them aside, slipping off his new set of armor so that he could head to the baths and begin his preparations for the evening. When he was dressed in nothing more than a tunic, he examined himself. Making note of some stubble that would need to be shaved and letting out a small sigh of relief when he realized his face was free of cuts and other impurities. He didn't think himself vain, but the confidence boost wasn't lost on him either. 

As he searched for a towel in the boxes that lay littered throughout his room he made a mental note to get around to unpacking sooner rather than later. After a few minutes of diligent searching he finally found what he was searching for, and was relieved to find his shaving razor was still wrapped up gently in the cloth. He grabbed what he needed and took a deep breath before departing, eager to get the day started, even if it meant combating his nerves the entire time.

\- - -

The sun had begun to dip over the horizon, and before the throne room's closed iron doors Artorias found himself, dressed in his new armor, hands slightly shaking as he waited for the doors to open and reveal the crowd behind them and his lord. To his side stood Lady Ciaran, a woman he had barely had a chance to speak with before they had been ushered into the hall and told to wait. 

Anticipation built in his chest the longer he stood there, and while part of him told him to cherish this moment and etch every second of it into his memory, another part of him longed to get it over with so that he could breathe again. As if sensing his distress, his fellow knight looked up at him curiously, the large eye that sat sideways on her new mask making the gaze feel otherworldly. 

“Nervous, Sir Artorias?” 

“A little,” he confessed with a small laugh, “and you, Lady Ciaran?”

“Perhaps I am a bit anxious,” she replied, her voice not at all betraying the emotion she claimed to be feeling. “But is that not to be expected?”

“I suppose you're right,” Artorias said as he turned to look down at her. “I do truly look forward to working with you and the others, though.”

“I share your sentiment, Sir Artorias.” She replied, her head tilting upwards a bit as she examined him. “Let us both enjoy this night, it's not often we have cause for celebration.”

Artorias nodded before the doors creakily opened in front of them. He straightened back out, turning away from his fellow knight to glance into what lay beyond the doors. From where he stood he could make out several lines of finely dressed people, acquaintances of Lord Gwyn he presumed, and his lord, of course, seated in his throne, his children gathered close to him. To their right stood Ornstein, looking as regal as ever Artorias noted from his proud posture and the weapon he held securely in his hands, and to the lord's left stood Gough, a giant that even from a distance made Artorias feel incredibly small, a rare feat. 

Artorias took a small step forward, out of the corner of his eye noticing that Ciaran was walking in sync beside him. He held his head up high, kept his back straight, and prayed to all of the gods he could think of that he didn't trip on the long, elegant runner that snaked its way towards the throne. To his relief, he didn't, and as he arrived at the bottom of the steps that lead to the throne, his lord stood and he and Ciaran both dipped down to rest on one knee, kneeling before him.

“Lady Ciaran, Sir Artorias,” the Lord of Sunlight began as he put his hands together, walking down the steps to stand in front of them. Artorias took a shaky breath, willing his nerves to be still if only for a moment. “You have both been deemed fit for this title by your peers and myself, and have indicated your willingness to receive this honor and preform the duties it brings. Do you both swear to defend your lord, this land, and its citizens?” 

“I will,” Artorias and Ciaran both replied immediately.

“That you will honor, defend, and protect all those weaker than yourselves?”

“I will.”

“That you will conduct yourself in all manners that befits a Knight of Gwyn, drawing your blades only for just cause? That you will enshrine your heart in the noble ideals of chivalry to the benefit of your own name and that of my own kingdom?” 

“I will.”

With that, Artorias heard the sliding of steel, and took another deep breath, steadying himself for when the weight of a blade would be placed upon his shoulder. Cold steel gently tapped against his armor, his lord speaking once more.

“Then having sworn this solemn oath, know now that I, Lord Gwyn, by right of arms, do dub you with my sword, and all that you hold sacred, righteous, and holy.” The blade shifted, going to Ciaran's shoulders as their lord repeated himself one last time. “Arise, Knight Artorias. Arise, Lord's Blade Ciaran.”

A round of applause broke out in the room as Artorias and Ciaran rose to their feet, their lord smiling slightly at them. Artorias smiled behind his helm, feeling what was left of his nerves begin to wane as the thrill of what had just occurred began to truly sink in. Of all the things he had accomplished in his years, nothing felt better than this.

“Sir Artorias, please accept this sword and shield so that you may slay what threatens what you have sworn to protect and shield what you hold dear. Please take this ring as well, as a token of my gratitude for the service you have provided for my family and this kingdom.” 

Artorias willed his hands steady as he watched his lord take the items from the swordbearer that had, at some point when his head had been bowed, came forth. He slipped his left gauntlet off, sliding the ring he was offered, which depicted that of a wolf, he noticed, on his finger before he reattached his armor. Arms reaching for the massive, and from what little Artorias could see of them due to the low lighting, incredibly detailed and intricate greatsword and shield that were offered to him. 

He slid the items on his back and lowered his head, waiting for Ciaran's set to be given to her and for their lord to continue. Artorias felt his breath come out a bit shaky as he realized what was yet to come.

“As is customary, it is with great honor that I bestow a piece of my very being onto you.” Gwyn began as he stepped forward, coming to a halt just an arm's length away from both Artorias and Ciaran. “As you seek to provide protection and honor to this land and its name, know that I, Lord Gwyn, will always provide for you in return for your devout service. May the flames guide thee.”

Artorias felt his lord's hand lightly press into his sternum, followed by a slight pressure that soon coalesced into a blinding light. For a brief moment, his lord's steady hand was the only thing keeping him in place as his vision swayed, his limbs losing what bit of strength they had in them through his nerves and then, as peacefully as it had begun, it was over. As Artorias looked up, his lord smiled.

“To all of those in attendance here today, you have my sincerest thanks.” Gwyn began again, clasping his hands together one final time. “Knight Artorias and Lord's Blade Ciaran have shown their excellence in battle in times of war and peace and have served this kingdom with honor. It is for this reason they have been elevated to their current status as Knights of Gwyn, please just us in celebrating in the formal dining hall.”

Another round of applause broke out, earning another smile from Artorias although no one else was aware of it. As members of the crowd began to filter out of the throne room, Lord Gwyn turned back to them.

“Congratulations,” he offered simply, his smile warm and bright.

“Thank you, my lord,” they answered in unison, dipping into low bows. 

“Enjoy yourselves tonight, my knights. Including you, Sir Ornstein, whatever duties you have to fulfill can surely wait until the morn,” their lord added as he and his children began to make their exit, leaving the newly formed Four Knights of Gwyn alone together for the first time. Artorias looked at each of them, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in.

“That was...nerve wracking,” he admitted with a small laugh, earning a chuckle from Gough.

“You did well,” Ornstein added, a hint of amusement in his voice, a tone that suited him much better than the serious weight it always seemed to carry, Artorias thought. “I felt it better to not prepare you all for the merging of the souls, it's not something I feel I could describe to someone who has never experienced it anyhow.”

“That was a very strange feeling, indeed,” Ciaran responded, rubbing her chest where their lord's fingers had lingered just moments prior. “Are there perhaps any other...effects we should be aware of?”

“None that you will find unwelcome,” Ornstein answered simply, apparently feeling no need to go into further detail.

“Sir Ornstein-” Artorias began, being cut of by a wave of the dragonslayer's hand.

“Captain will suffice, Artorias. We are all but equals now, you needn't be so...frigidly polite.” 

“Captain,” Artorias corrected, testing the word on his tongue. It felt strange, he thought, almost...disrespectful, despite the term being more fitting of their status. “Might I inquire on when we are expected to begin our work? I reason today is out of the question, but I have not yet received any further instructions.” 

“He's eager,” Gough commented, sparing a glance at the dragonslayer that stood beside him. “Perhaps he's more addicted to his work than even you, Ornstein.”

Artorias felt his cheeks heat up, feeling embarrassed for having asked in the first place. As if Ornstein was aware of that fact, the dragonslayer shook his head slightly.

“It's quite all right,” the Knight Captain added, his voice surprisingly kind, Artorias thought. “Come to my office in the morn, both of you, we can discuss this more then. For now, let us try and enjoy ourselves. Who knows when our next opportunity to do so will be.”

Artorias nodded, shifting from one foot to another as he waited for the others to make their move. Gough seemed to take the dragonslayer's words to heart and immediately headed down the steps, which he cleared in two strides, and made his way to exit the throne room. Ciaran quietly trailed behind him, seemingly unbothered by it all. Artorias waited for Ornstein to move before he did, feeling slightly ashamed to admit to himself that maybe he only really felt comfortable around him at this point, finding his fellow knights still strangers in comparison. 

“You were being dishonest when you said you weren't usually a nervous person,” Ornstein commented, his tone slightly amused. Artorias fell into step beside him, letting out a chuckle.

“Truthfully, I was not being dishonest. I just never saw a need to act as if it were anything but normal to have emotions.” He replied, sparing a glance at his companion. “The only time where emotions have no place is on the field of battle, I think.”

“Some could argue they make you vulnerable,” the dragonslayer countered, his tone almost inquisitive, as if he himself were unsure whether or not he aligned himself with those who'd consider that statement true.

“Perhaps,” Artorias agreed, “but others could argue that by refusing to acknowledge them you make yourself vulnerable when they become too great to ignore. Imagine not being nervous at your own promotion ceremony, Captain, then it all finally becomes too much and you have a mental breakdown in the middle of the party when someone asks how you're coping with the colder weather.”

Ornstein let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and Artorias felt his lips quirk up into a smile.

“There could be no greater tragedy,” Ornstein replied, voice laden with amusement. “Do enjoy yourself tonight, Artorias. It's been quite some time since we've had just cause for celebration. I don't presume we will be having many more opportunities in the future.” 

Artorias nodded his head solemnly, not feeling the need to press the issue as he understood what was being alluded to. Things were getting bad again, he was aware of it, as was anyone remotely involved in the operations that occurred to protect the citizens from the monstrosities that continued to emerge. Artorias didn't understand a thing about them himself, and here he was, tasked with their demise all the same. He felt a frown pull on his lips.

“Thank you, Captain.” He said as they arrived to the dining hall, the noise from the room almost deafening as music and the sounds of laughter and idle chatter echoed throughout the castle. Ornstein responded with a nod of his head before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Artorias alone to face the masses that seemingly all turned to applaud him, he bowed politely at their reception before making his way toward a line of food and drinks.

He watched idly as men and women danced, laughed with one another, and enjoyed the festivities. For some that would prompt thoughts to join them, he supposed, but for him it just made his resolve that much clearer. People should always be able to act like this, he thought, living without worry and fear. He wanted to make sure that dream came to fruition, wanted to protect what he could, and honor the words he had sworn to in front of his lord moments prior. Celebrating when he knew what laid beyond Anor Londo's great line of defenses almost felt...wrong. 

As he sipped his wine and nestled himself into a chair off to the side of the room, mindlessly picking at the food he had gathered for himself as he turned his attention to his helm that sat on the table beside him. He felt his lips quirk upwards as he gazed upon it. He'd make that helm recognizable by all, make it known that when he arrived somewhere that he'd stop at nothing to achieve his goal of stopping the senseless violence that had plagued their kind since the days of dragons. The very idea of it filled him with a great sense of pride, a purpose greater than any he could have ever considered before.

“Not one for parties?” Came a slightly teasing call, the voice bringing Artorias back to the present.

“I don't mind a little socialization, although I'd feel more inclined to chat with them all after a glass or two of wine,” Artorias responded in kind, smiling at Ciaran, who he noted was the same height as him when he was seated. Her mask was turned to the side of her face, revealing soft and beautiful features that almost gave her the appearance of a doll, Artorias thought. A set of sky colored eyes examined him for a moment before shifting to the crowd as if nothing had ever happened. 

“Wine will make even the most unsociable man, sociable, Artorias.” She teased, offering him a smile he could barely see as her head was still turned away from him, “but I'm inclined to share your sentiment. I've had a few glasses myself to make all the mingling a little more tolerable.” 

He let out a small chuckle, reaching for his own glass before lifting it slightly in the air. 

“To our shared promotion and mutual preference of small gatherings rather than bustling gala's,” he cheered, earning a small chuckle from his fellow knight alongside a mock bow of her head as if she was in complete agreement. 

“Do plan on some mingling,” came another reply, both knights turning to face their captain. “Everyone gathered here is here for you both, after all.”

“Of course, Captain,” Ciaran responded with a small bow.

“Forgive us, Captain,” Artorias added, turning to face the dragonslayer, who held his helm in one hand and a glass of dark red wine in the other. “We will see to it that we show every person in attendance our sincerest gratitude.” 

Ornstein let out a small sigh, “fret not, I think everyone here has helped themselves to one too many glasses of drink already. I'm sure they've hardly noticed anyone's prolonged absence.” There was a slight pause as he surveyed the crowd, Artorias' eyes following his own. “Even our lord seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. If only times could always remain this trivial.”

“I had a similar thought earlier myself,” Artorias added as he finished the rest of his drink, setting it aside on the table as he reached for his helm. “Perhaps one day we may be so fortunate.”

“Aye,” Ciaran agreed, stepping aside so Artorias had enough room to carefully place his new weapons upon his back. He thanked her quietly. 

As he stood, Artorias noticed two men clad in Silver Knight's armor enter the hall, hastily making their way through the crowd, turning about as if they were searching for something, or someone, in particular. He pursed his lips, “Captain?”

“I'll see what the issue is,” the dragonslayer affirmed as he excused himself, slipping into the crowd after the pair. Artorias felt worry creep into the back of his mind as he curled his fingers around his helm, clutching it tightly to his chest.

“I'm sure it's nothing,” Ciaran offered, “perhaps we're out of drink and they're worried the good lords and ladies will rebel.”

“Perhaps,” Artorias snorted, though his fellow knight's words did little to comfort his growing nerves. “Shall we work the room before we find out what actually seems to be occurring?”

“A wise idea, indeed,” Ciaran agreed, running her hands over her armor to smooth out the wrinkles in its fabric. “After you, Artorias.” 

He hummed something akin to acknowledgment as he headed towards the crowd, the little assassin trailing behind him closely. He approached any group not too caught up in song and dance and politely thanked them for attending, accepting their praises and congratulatory words with ease -thanks to the aide of the alcohol that coursed through his veins- and humbly laughed off the tall tales others claimed to have heard of him, although some were more truth than fiction. 

As he and Ciaran found themselves discussing the plights of making a settlement in the lowest reaches of the valley with a man Artorias had never heard of prior to this moment, Ornstein abruptly called his name. 

“If you would excuse me, sir,” Artorias said politely, bowing slightly before he pivoted on his heel and strode over to the dragonslayer, who had forgone his glass of wine in favor of gripping his spear. Worry crept back into Artorias' mind at the sight. “Yes, Captain?”

“Our lord needs to speak with you,” the dragonslayer informed him, ushering Artorias to follow him with a wave of his hand. He did as told, trailing after Ornstein who expertly navigated the masses of people, the crowd always seemingly willing to part and make way for him in turn. 

The Lord of Sunlight sat at the end of a long table situated at the back of the hall, food and goblets left no inch of the long wooden fixture empty and many individuals Artorias could not name sat alongside him. More pressing were the two knights that stood beside their seemingly contemplative lord, there was no doubt anymore that something had indeed occurred, Artorias realized as he came to a halt beside his captain, both of them bowing before their lord. 

“There's been an incident,” Lord Gwyn spoke, confirming the newest knight's earlier suspicions. “Sir Artorias, I begrudgingly must ask you to leave and head there at once.”

“Of course, my lord,” Artorias replied, “I am to ready to set out.”

“Good,” Lord Gwyn replied, a small sigh escaping his lips. “Sir Ornstein, you will go as well. Take how many men you think you will need.”

“My lord?” Came the immediate, quizzical reply from the dragonslayer.

“Whatever this is, I need you to find it out. You are most familiar with the reports and may be able to help find the common link, if there is one, between them. A knight's place is not in his office doing paperwork, but serving his kingdom where he is most needed and I need you there now.”

“Of course, my lord,” Ornstein replied, dipping into a low bow. Artorias spared him a look, noticing a slight tinge to his cheeks as if they had heated up from embarrassment. The way the dragonslayer's fist clenched around his helm and weapon made it seem as if he regretted questioning the order at all. 

“Your destination is past the lower stretches of the valley, travel to where construction on the fortress has begun and head east until you reach the forest, when you reach a small lake you will be in the right area. That is all we know at this time.”

“Yes, my lord.” They answered in unison, both nodding their heads in understanding. 

“Go forth, my noble knights. When you return I want answers,” their lord concluded, seemingly angry, not at them, but at the situation itself. Artorias couldn't blame him, the reports were becoming more frequent, their contents more troubling. He had just returned not a week prior and was already being sent out again for more of the same thing, before there had been at least a months time in-between sightings, but now that time was cut in half. Its increased frequency was alarming, the threat it potentially posed a freighting prospect. 

As their lord dismissed them, Artorias stuck to Ornstein's side, following him through the crowd until they arrived to an area where Gough sat, Ciaran emerging from the crowd not a moment later as if she had perceived that her presence would be needed. Beside him, Ornstein cleared his throat.

“Trouble in the woods,” he said in short, letting the other knights process the news. “Artorias and I are to leave at once. Gough, please see to it that my usual responsibilities are taken care of while I am away, I'm unsure how long we may be gone. Ciaran, there's a file on my desk containing a list of leads about the cases your units have been working on prior to this week, confer with Gough and our lord before you issue any orders if you feel the cases are pressing enough that they cannot wait until I return.”

“I understand, Captain,” Ciaran responded with a nod, Gough mumbling his own acknowledgment. Artorias bit his lip, mind already racing as he wondered what awaited them outside of the safety of Anor Londo. He wasn't missing much at least, he reasoned, he'd much prefer the familiarity of battle than mingling with nobles at a party, even if it were one held for him.

“Shall we go, Artorias?”

“I'm ready when you are, sir.” 

Ornstein turned to him slightly, giving him a thoughtful look before he slipped on his helm, his features once again covered by the iconic armor he wore. Artorias bit his lip before returning the notion, securing his own helm before running his hands over his armor, ensuring it was securely fastened. He waited for the dragonslayer to move before he did, following after him as they left behind the thunderous roars of the ensuing party and hurried towards the barracks that housed the many knights within Anor Londo.

“From what I decipher from this situation, this operation is under your command, Artorias. After all, this falls under your purview. Please carry on as you usually would, I'm only here to observe and assist if necessary.” 

Artorias felt his breath hitch as a lump rose in his throat, “I won't let you down, Captain.”

“You won't,” Ornstein reassured, glancing over at him. Despite the helm that covered his face, Artorias could feel the consideration he was being given. He smiled despite himself. 

As they arrived at the barracks Artorias had just gathered his things and departed from only days prior, he slipped inside, the attention of the knights who were off duty immediately became his. 

“Everyone,” he greeted, his voice echoing throughout the partially empty room. Recognition immediately crossed the somewhat familiar faces as they all bowed to greet him, muttered his name under their breaths. “I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I need units nine and eleven to prepare to depart immediately. We will be traveling quite some distance so be sure to bring enough supplies to last us for at least a fortnight to be safe. Sir Ornstein will be accompanying us, we will be at the east wing's main gate when you are ready. Make haste, we have little time to spare.”

There was a resounding chorus of “sirs” as the men hurried to gather their arms and acquire the supplies that would be necessary. Artorias nodded his head once before exiting, sparing a glance at Ornstein, who stood with his back against the opposing wall, before he turned toward his destination. The dragonslayer fell in step beside him. 

“Have you any more details that our lord may have mentioned prior to you finding me?” Artorias inquired, slowing his stride as he realized his long limbs minutely outpaced the slightly shorter man. 

“There is one thing I failed to mention,” Ornstein confirmed, taking a deep breath. “The bodies that were found were discovered by a regular patrol unit in that area. That alone would have raised red flags but the truly concerning part is the state they were found in.”

“How so?” Artorias wondered aloud, curiosity well and truly peaked.

“They bore no substantial injuries,” Ornstein continued, “nothing remotely serious enough to be considered fatal, at least. They were also...stacked upon one another. I don't presume they would have perished in such a way, rather that they were tampered with after their demise.” 

“Who...or what would do such a thing?” Artorias asked, finding the news more troubling than usual. Then again, nothing about this was usual. The timing, the peculiar state of the bodies, the lack of information...things were escalating, that much he was certain, but the worse things became, the more questions it raised. Questions his lord would expect answers to, questions Artorias didn't know the answer to. 

“I'm unsure,” Ornstein confessed, voice not at all betraying whatever concern he might have felt. “You are more familiar with the specifics of these cases than I. I'm only truly familiar with the locations of these incidents. Have you encountered anything of this...variety before?”

“I have not, Captain.” Artorias disclosed, mind desperately trying to recall anything that resembled what he was hearing now, but unable to make any correlations. As they arrived at the east wing's door and walked past the guards, Artorias leaned against its cool steel exterior, his weapons that hung on his back clanking against it gently. 

“No matter. If there is a connection to be made, we'll make it. If there is none, we'll deal with these incidents as we have always done,” Ornstein surmised as he too leaned against the door, standing an arm's length apart from him.

“You're right,” Artorias added, feeling slightly reassured by the more experienced knight's declaration. “I want to add that I'm glad you'll be traveling with us, Captain. Your expertise and wisdom will benefit us greatly as we work to find the answer and whatever solution may be available.”

“What did I tell you about flattery?” The dragonslayer grumbled, for a moment, he reminded Artorias more of a grumpy house cat and less of a lion. He let out a laugh, earning a chuckle from the Knight Captain in return.

“Pardon me, Captain, but I believe I informed you it wouldn't stop me from trying,” Artorias teased, silently thankful for the banter and for the little comfort it gave to his thinning nerves. 

“I welcome you to continue, but don't expect a different result.” Ornstein challenged in return, bringing a smile to Artorias' lips.

“Of course not, Captain.”

They stood in silence after that, and Artorias took that time to consider how they'd travel before deciding against further planning until they were out of Anor Londo. There was no telling how treacherous the roads would be. Winter still raged on outside and the ice and snow that fell would only serve to complicate things and make certain, normally safe paths, nothing short of treacherous. 

Sighing, he turned his thoughts to the dragonslayer who stood beside him. He wondered how it was possible that the man always seemed so...imposing. Even standing completely still, clearly lost in his own thoughts, he looked as intimidating as he ever did. Artorias reasoned that the only time he was even more formidable was when they had sparred at the beginning of the week, then, he had been the most fearsome looking opponent Artorias had faced since the dragons still claimed dominion over the land. 

He was a lot different than Artorias imagined he'd be. He had always envisioned a war hardened veteran, with scars running across his face and thinning hair, war could do that to a man after all, and he had definitely expected him to be harsh and one not open to conversation. He was pleasantly surprised when he realized the opposite was true. 

It had thrown him off guard at first, when he had first stepped into the dragonslayer's office and seen him without a helm for the first time. There were no scars or signs of balding to be found, only a young man with bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and a near constant look of contemplation expressed in his features. He was alarmingly attractive, Artorias thought, far more appealing than he had given him credit for. 

He was also far more kind than Artorias had imagined he'd be. He was addicted to his work, that much was evident from the seriousness that he conducted himself with and the way he always seemed to be thinking about the seemingly endless tasks that needed his attention. However, he wasn't one to turn away from small talk and idle chat, and he seemed to realize the transition from company captain to a Knight of Gwyn wasn't easy, the way he reassured himself and Ciaran whenever they asked questions or became nervous was evidence of this. 

Before they had met, Artorias had only had the tales of the great Dragonslayer Ornstein to go off of and yet they had been enough for the man to become a role model in the younger knight's mind. After what little time they had spent getting to know one another, Artorias was glad that the man wasn't like he had envisioned at all, he was an even better role model than Artorias had concocted, someone truly worthy of the respect he commanded and the role he held. 

Artorias wondered what his former unit thought of him now. He went from commanding one small band of knights to overseeing all of the specialized knight units within a week times, and while he was sure there was some confusion about the seemingly random appointment and its timing, he at least hoped they understood the necessity of it all. He was certain some would call him deserving and others would envy him behind closed doors, but he could only hope they knew his motivations had not changed with the rise in his rank.

After all, things had never been about glory for him, only results. 

Artorias let out a sigh at the thought, remembering that results were the exact thing this mission was about. There was no room for error anymore, things were rapidly becoming more dangerous as the days went on. More lives were at stake, chaos could ensue if things were left unchecked, his lord was counting on him to solve the riddle and yet, he had nothing to go by. 

As horrible as it sounded in his head, Artorias wished that he was not the only one capable of felling the beasts. If the others had lived they could have revealed information that would have proven invaluable, about the nature of the creatures, about the reason they showed up where they did, about their patterns and abilities...anything was better than what little he had to work with. He wondered why he was the only one capable of defeating them to begin with.

He didn't think the others were unskilled, he had helped train many of them, he knew they were capable...it made no sense and it made his head hurt trying to find reasoning where there very well couldn't be any. Perhaps he'd never know, perhaps Ornstein would be the key to finding out the whys that had alluded him this whole time. Or even worse, perhaps there was a reason behind it but they'd still return none the wiser. 

Artorias pulled himself from his thoughts as he heard the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall. The two units he summoned appearing before him, marching in perfect lines, weapons in their hands and supplies on their backs. Artorias kicked off the wall, sparing a glance at Ornstein as the dragonslayer commanded the sentries to open the gates. Artorias took a deep breath as the doors slid open, revealing the snow that fell peacefully under the moonlit sky of Anor Londo. He nodded at Ornstein before setting out, all too keenly aware of the forty one pairs of footsteps that crunched softly in the snow behind him.


	3. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! This chapter is quite a long read, as a fair warning, its about 8400 words...so with that I pose a question, are the long chapters preferred or would you rather read shorter, more frequent updates? I plan on posting once a week or so, give or take a few days, but that could be shortened if I didn't write as much...
> 
> Anyway, it's rather late and I did give this a re-read but there could be errors that I missed so if you find any, please ignore them. I'll go through this again tomorrow evening and fix what I can find then. 
> 
> Lastly, I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has left comments or kudos on this thus far. It means a lot to me that you guys take the time to let me know how you feel about this story and the way I portray everyone, so I wanted to say a quick thank you. There's quite a bit of action in this chapter, which was nice to finally get into, so I sincerely hope you guys enjoy. As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated and I hope you guys enjoy the read. ^^

No sooner than they had left the outskirts of Anor Londo, the weather began to take a turn for the worse. What had been a gentle flutter of snowflakes quickly turned into blizzard, reducing visibility drastically and severely crippling both the speed that they could afford to travel as well as the men themselves, who were less equipped to continue on in such conditions. 

Ornstein watched Artorias continue his forward march, occasionally sparing a glance back over his shoulder as if he were checking to see if the others were still behind him and hadn't been lost in the storm. They at least had to make it to the base of the mountain they were on, camping at higher elevations would do little to alleviate the situation, but it was becoming abundantly clear from the significantly slowed down footsteps behind the two Knights of Gwyn that the men could not continue for much longer. 

The snow had become deep, Ornstein's knees obscured completely under its blanket, and for the other men, it covered their armor clad thighs, making each stride they took take an enormous amount of effort. With a sigh, Ornstein reached out his hand, grabbing Artorias by his wrist and forcing the other knight to a halt.

“We need to find shelter, the men can't continue like this. You're right in saying it's more dangerous to camp up here but I'm afraid we have no choice.” 

The company behind them froze as their leader took a moment to ponder the dragonslayer's words, his shoulders visibly dropping before he voiced his reply.

“You're right, there's a cave close to here. It should be sufficient to accommodate everyone, but it won't be comfortable.”

“Neither is trudging through this much snow,” Ornstein retorted, beginning to feel exhaustion settle into his bones the longer he stood still. Neither he nor Artorias had been prepared for this, having woken at dawn the day prior. The sun would be set to rise in a few hours, and while Ornstein was loathe to miss out on sunlight hours during travel, he knew they had little choice.

Artorias nodded, waving the company to continue forward as they changed direction, veering to the right and down a small incline. The footing was slippery, their armor clad boots doing little to provide traction on the ice that covered the rocks beneath the ever deepening fluff, but at last they arrived at their destination. 

The cave faced opposite of where the wind was blowing, making the entrance relatively free of obstacles as they stepped inside. A few men from the eleventh company came forward to offer them torches they had fashioned once out of the ravenous winds, Ornstein took one with a mumble of thanks, following Artorias inward until they reached the back of the cave. 

Artorias had been right, the opening in the mountain was indeed rather small, causing both he and the new knight to have to duck their heads in certain sections, but the men all did fit inside of its shelter, something that caused a sigh of relief to escape the Knight Captain's lips. He took a seat at the very back, handing off the torch to another Silver Knight as they rushed to make a fire in the center of the room.

He worked his helm off his head before removing his gauntlets, his fingers stinging slightly from the chill. He watched quietly as Artorias assisted the men where necessary, helping the supply carriers distribute a small ration of food and thin blankets to the rest of the company, who were charged with securing the cave with a barrier for when they all would be resting. 

Ornstein politely waved off the offer of food one man offered him, too tired to eat or do anything but finish removing his armor, shivering violently before he wrapped the offered blanket around his shoulders. The fire would soon warm the cave's expanse, aided by the barrier that would keep the heat in, but at the moment it did nothing for the aching cold that refused to leave the dragonslayer's tired bones. 

He felt his lips dip downward into a frown, and made a mental note to request more time in the field in the future. Years ago, this wouldn't have bothered him at all, but nearly a decade of sitting in an office had dulled his senses, spoiled him with the constant comfort that living in a castle truly offered. In a way, he had missed this, he realized. But another part of him, one he had earlier attempted to ignore, silently prayed that his nightmares of past travels and battles would not find him here. 

He didn't want anyone to see him like that, and he didn't want to remember the things he did.

“Everything all right, Captain?” Came a concerned call, its owner lowering himself to sit beside the dragonslayer, his head, free of a helm, slightly tilted to the side as if he were observing him. Ornstein forced his face to return to a neutral state.

“Everything is fine,” he replied quietly, his exhaustion not so easily hidden in the way his words refused to come out above a certain level. His companion offered him a small smile, genuine empathy reflecting in a pair of blue tearstone colored eyes. Ornstein bit his lip at the sight, scolding himself all the while.

“You should rest, Captain. You look exhausted,” Artorias nearly pleaded, his smile not once faltering. “I've got everything handled, this is the familiar part for me, after all. You needn't worry yourself, we'll continue on when we wake. We'll need to be alert the next few days, you'll be of no use to anyone if you can hardly keep your eyes open.” The last sentence bore the all too familiar teasing tone that Ornstein had come to appreciate, the lightheartedness Artorias toyed with in his choice of words never failing to make the dragonslayer's lips twitch upward. 

Despite having known one another for only a week, Ornstein felt incredibly comfortable with the man beside him. Conversation came easy between them, teasing -a thing Ornstein typically didn't care for- didn't bother him as it would coming from most, and those things together reminded Ornstein of times that had long since passed. Of times when he had a true friend he could speak with so openly, it was something he missed, something he was beginning to think he had gained once more. 

Ornstein found himself more than content with what was being established, happy even to finally find himself being able to just talk with someone, something he hadn't had in quite some time. So he let the conversation go, recalling Artorias was indeed the one in charge this time and that he trusted him to know what he was doing and what needed to be done by the rest. It was nice to not have to worry about the finer details for once, nice to have an equal to shoulder things with.

Ornstein was truly grateful for the events that transpired in the days that came before, pleasantly shocked that so many things could change in such a short amount of time. He'd inevitably have a million other things to worry about, his current task aside, but it meant he could let things go for once. The fact that he'd no longer be charged with micromanaging the special forces or the company of assassins and that two capable knights would be there to fill the void took a huge weight off his shoulders. 

He'd thank Lord Gwyn for it when they returned. 

“Captain, perhaps you'd like to lay down? You'll be sore if you sleep like that.” 

Ornstein pried his eyes open, being met with Artorias' face once more as the other knight moved to a small space at the back of the cave before laying down, his armor sitting proudly in a small pile behind him. Sighing, Ornstein all but slid down the wall of the cave, pushing his armor to the side as his back met cool, hard rock. He ignored the sensation and forced himself into a somewhat comfortable position as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, relieved that the air in the cavern began to warm. 

He spared one last glance at the others and Artorias, who was sprawled out across from him, before closing his eyes once more. Sleep greeted him almost instantly.

\- - -

Ornstein woke with a jolt, rapidly blinking away frightful images of times passed as he frantically surveyed his surroundings. To his relief, the men were all still asleep -still in-tact, alive, and breathing- and the barrier that had been placed in front of the cave held strong, keeping the warmth in with it and the frigid winter air at bay. He let out a shuddered breath as he rested his head in his hands, willing them steady as he reminded himself to take deep breaths, and to remain silent as to not wake the others.

As he was beginning to collect himself, he heard something slide across rock, a distinct sound, sharp and unpleasant. He glanced around the cavern once more, seeing no movement, and felt his heart rate quicken once more. He tried to ignore it, writing off the sound as nothing more than a fleeting figment of his imagination, an after effect of horrors he had witnessed that had been laid to rest years ago, but it persisted all the same. 

Ornstein briefly pondered if he was loosing his mind, but when another knight's head turned, seemingly awoken by the sound, he found his hand reaching out to shake Artorias, rousing the man -somewhat grumpily- from his slumber. The action was repeated by the Silver Knight, and soon the entire company was awake, sitting in silence as the sound grew louder, more frantic. 

They hastily stood, slipping into their armor as quietly as possible before hurriedly repacking their supplies and snuffing out the flame that had persisted throughout the night, keeping their bodies warm. The light from the sun lit the cave well enough, and Ornstein silently fell into step beside Artorias as they worked their way to the mouth of the cavern. A pair of casters dematerialized the barrier when a nod signaled from the newest Knight of Gwyn, and then, they were swiftly tracing the sounds source. 

Ornstein kept close to Artorias, staying out of the other knights way as they methodically fanned out, forming a formation that left no side exposed, no gaps in their defenses. He found himself momentarily impressed, then remembered it was after all a tactic Artorias had devised prior to his promotion. It was for these very reasons he had been appointed a higher rank in the first place. 

He watched the taller knight silently, Artorias beckoning the men to follow after him, which they did without any hesitation. As they rounded a rather large bend in the mountain's side, large enough to fit the companies in their current state, the sound mysteriously came to a halt. For a moment, all was quiet, and then came a roar of wind, enough that some men fell to their knees, others resorting to stabbing their weapons in the earth to keep themselves upright. 

Ornstein felt a chill run down his spine as he gazed up, the familiarity of the situation dawning on him, the sound and feeling something unforgettable.

Enormous black wings fanned out overhead, the beast momentarily blocking the light as it took flight from a higher point on the mountain and dove away, soaring to the valley that sat on the mountain's opposite side, away from Anor Londo. Ornstein had heard rumors of a dragon that had escaped the god's wrath and wrought destruction wherever it appeared, but there had been no solid evidence, no reliable testimonies to make the claims legitimate, and now here he was, watching the monstrosity disappear from view behind another rocky hill that sat adjacent from where they stood. 

He forced his jaw shut, unaware it had been open from shock, before turning to Artorias, who still stood eerily still, his head tilted upward. 

“So they were more than just rumors,” Artorias spoke, his voice revealing the disbelief his helm otherwise obscured. 

“Indeed, it would appear that way,” Ornstein replied, sparing a glance back at the men who were only now clambering to their feet.

“Is everyone all right?” Artorias asked, his form still unmoving. A resounding chorus of “yes, sirs” met their ears in reply. 

“Lord Gwyn will need to be informed of this at once,” Ornstein stated flatly, brows furrowing as he found one knight standing off kilter, putting more weight on one foot than the other. He let out a sigh. “Artorias.”

The other knight turned around, immediately spotting the man and seemingly coming to the same conclusion as he approached him. The other knight tried to stand up straighter, as if to not allude to what was truly wrong. 

“You shouldn't lie if you are unwell,” Artorias said, his voice effectively silencing the group of men who had nervously began to talk amongst themselves. Ornstein could not blame them, for it was the first time many of them had ever seen such a creature that close before. The knight that was being singled out lowered his head, as if ashamed. “You're injured?”

“It's my ankle, Sir Artorias,” came the reply, indeed as nervous as Ornstein had presumed it would be. He kept silent and watched, curious as to how Artorias would react.

“Are you all right?” 

“I'll be fine, Sir Artorias. I can continue.”

“We can't afford the risk you'd pose,” Artorias stated matter of factly, before amending his words with a more sincere tone, “don't be ashamed, we've all suffered our fare share of wounds. Some of us from the hands of those beings, just like yourself. You are to return to Anor Londo at once, someone will accompany you. First, I'll write a letter for Lord Gwyn, detailing what we've seen. When you return you are to give it to him at once, then go to the infirmary and see that you receive proper treatment, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Came the immediate reply. Ornstein felt his lips slightly twitch upward at the interaction, pleased with the way Artorias conducted himself and indeed cared deeply about the men under him. He was a fine leader, clearly in his element in the field, a far cry from the nervous man that shook at the thought of formal interactions and galas with newly appointed royalty. Then again, Ornstein mused, a knight really didn't earn their position because of their diplomacy, rather their skill. Everything else became learned in due time. 

“Captain, since you are the resident expert on dragons, are there any details you deem invaluable information that I should mention? I don't want to leave anything out, although I'm unsure how much can be deciphered from what we've just witnessed.” 

Ornstein turned to Artorias then, loosening the grip on his spear -that he had forgotten he had been holding so tightly- before he cast his eyes back to where the dragon had disappeared. He felt his lips press into a thin line.

“You're correct in saying that there truly isn't much to be deciphered from that little encounter. Aside from its size and intelligence, knowing not once but twice when to flee from our forces, the second time being just now, I think the only thing worth mentioning is that past reports will have to be looked into once more. Gough will also have to inform his units to tighten their watch of the city, should it dare think to travel our way.”

“And as far as hunting it down?” Artorias questioned, his voice sounding strained for a moment, as if he were dreading the thought. Ornstein couldn't blame him. 

“That would be...my duty,” he answered simply, “a duty I will attend to when we return to Anor Londo.”

“When the time comes, I would be happy to assist you, Captain.” A lie, but the offer itself was pleasant enough. It brought a smile to the dragonslayer's lips.

“You have your own duties to attend to, Artorias. But your consideration and kindness are not lost on me,” he replied, watching the taller knight settle beside a rock as he fetched a piece of linen and a quill and ink well from a bag that had been given to him. Artorias spared him a glance, nodding his head solemnly in what Ornstein knew was understanding, although he seemed hesitant to admit it. 

Ornstein left him to his writing, standing with his back against the icy surface of the mountainside as he gazed out into the valley below them. The snow had stopped at last, but they'd face the same treacherous conditions as the day prior when they began to wrap around the opposing side of the mountain. More deep snow and icy footings, something he hoped would not cause more injury to the men they had brought with them. 

His mind briefly flitted back to the dragon, causing another chill -one not made by the frigid bite of winter- to run down his spine. A dragonslayer he was, but he still feared the beasts, just as all others did. He knew more than anyone what they were capable of, and he respected that, if he hadn't he wouldn't have lived to earn the titles he held, but to wake from a dream of gnashing teeth and be met with the image of enormous wings felt like a cruel joke, orchestrated by fate itself. 

He'd look forward to breaking apart its scales with mighty bolts, relish in feeling its skin part ways under his spear's sharp point, he'd even take its head and mount it in the halls of Anor Londo, like he and Gough had done with the others. They were trophies of triumph, but each one carried with it bitter memories of scores of men who gave their lives so that it would in turn lose its own. 

He wouldn't allow another soul to be lost to those beasts, and the head of the black, evasive dragon would bare no more bad memories than of the one time a man broke his foot on the mountainside because of its mighty gust. Ornstein wouldn’t allow it. 

As Artorias finished sealing his letter and sent the injured man and another off, Ornstein kicked off of the wall of the mountain, falling in step beside the taller knight once more as they continued their descent. They remained silent for quite some time, the group collectively concentrating on their footing and making sure not to slip off of the steep incline they worked their way down. 

It was significantly easier without the battering wind and snow, each movement still requiring a great deal of effort, but not nearly as demanding as it had been not ten hours ago. It was a few hours past mid-day when they reached the foot of it, everyone collectively breathing a sigh of relief as the valley became a flat plain and the snow more compact, making it easier to walk across in turn. 

“Where will we stop for the day?” Ornstein asked finally, breaking the silence after several hours.

“The fortress, Captain,” Artorias answered simply, his voice steady and not at all showing signs of fatigue from their trek. “The worst part is over, I intend to push the men more today. Not that it brings me any joy, but the more time we spend idle, the more lives could be at risk.”

“I see,” Ornstein hummed in agreement, casting a glance behind them to check on the men, something he noticed Artorias did incredibly often. “They respect you, you know.”

Artorias let out a noise that sounded almost like a scoff. 

“I am their superior now, Captain, of course they respect me.”

“That's not what I meant,” Ornstein sighed, “your humility is incredibly frustrating at times.” 

“My apologies, Captain,” Artorias replied with an amused snort.

“They do respect you, though. It's easy to see why, you're...very attentive with them.”

“As I've always been. Perhaps it is not wise, I become...attached and upset if things don't turn out the way I think they will...” there was a pause, but Ornstein knew full well what he meant. Making friends with people that could die at any moment was why he became a stranger to socialization, he had made that mistake before. It was a wound that would never heal. “But I can't bring myself to treat them any differently or act in any way that I usually wouldn't...it's not in my nature.”

“You're even a humble bragger,” Ornstein scoffed, his tone borderline playful. It sounded strange to his ears, but Artorias' laugh brought a smile to his lips.

“Unlike with you, Captain, I sincerely appreciate your flattery.” 

Ornstein rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped his lips, “you are absolutely infuriating.” 

“My apologies,” came the reply, the tone too amused to be sincere, not that Ornstein had meant it either. He let out a mock sigh, earning another chuckle from his companion. They exchanged a glance with one another before continuing on in silence. The men behind them continued on with idle chatter, some trying to guess what would await them in the days that followed, others distracting themselves with tall tales they had heard in passing. Ornstein didn't understand the fascination with gossip and mentally drowned out those conversations, instead taking to keeping a watchful eye on the horizon.

After some time, they arrived at the fortress where construction was still underway. When complete, it would serve as the greatest line of defense for Anor Londo yet, no one would be able to enter the mountainside that led to the city without first passing through, and that would effectively cut down the number of patrol units they had to deploy by almost half. Ornstein still had no idea what he'd do with all the returning men when the fortress was complete, but he figured that was an issue best worried about closer to the completion date. 

A third of the fortress was completely finished and was offered to the arriving knights just after the last bits of sunlight began to fade for the day. They had made good time, arriving far earlier than anyone had expected, and that meant they'd be able to start early the next day, something that would save them time in the long run. If Ornstein's mental layout of the land was anything to go by, they'd arrive at their destination by late afternoon the following day. Whatever happened after that was something he couldn't determine and forced himself not to think about.

As they were settling in for the night, Ornstein continued to remind himself to not intervene with Artorias' lead, instead taking to watching his fellow knight command the men to complete task after task and assist the already established knight companies of the fortress in preparing food for their forces. Ornstein felt his stomach growl at the thought, regretting having not eaten the night before or on the road for that matter. 

He let out a contented sigh as he lowered himself onto a cot, slipping out of his armor quietly and basking in the warmth that crept into his skin from the hearth that sat adjacent from him. He slipped a blanket around his shoulders and reclined backwards, his back resting against the wall the small bed was situated against. Across the large room, Artorias was busy at work, helping his men distribute blankets once more as the others prepared their meal. Ornstein briefly wondered if he should offer to help, but as if the other knight had somehow knew what he was going to say, Artorias approached him.

“You look thoroughly exhausted.” It wasn't so much of a question as it was an observation, Ornstein hummed in response. “Are you feeling all right, Captain?”

“Fine,” he replied, letting out a shuttered breath. “I just didn't sleep particularly well, is all.”

“I noticed,” Artorias replied, his voice sounding hesitant, as if he was unsure whether or not he had wanted to disclose that information. Ornstein cocked his head up to look at him. “It's all right,” Artorias quickly amended, raising his hands up almost defensively, “your secret is safe with me.”

Ornstein bit his lip to prevent a trail of curses from pouring out but couldn't stop the heat that spread across his cheeks, something that he hid with a tilt of his head. 

“I get them too,” Artorias mumbled, his confession causing Ornstein to raise his head to look at him once more. “I...I understand. I'm sorry I mentioned it at all.”

“It's quite all right,” Ornstein replied, feeling small underneath the weight of the empathetic gaze that was aimed at him. 

“Captain, I know this is...perhaps a bit presumptuous of me, but I consider you a friend,” Artorias began once more, sparing a glance over his shoulder as if he was checking to see if anyone were listening. “If there's ever anything I can do for you, or if you ever need someone to talk with who understands what you're going through...I'd be happy to listen.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice sounding hollow even to himself, the downward pull that had formed on his lips refusing to give way. “Your level of kindness is a rare gift Artorias, however, please do not worry yourself with my troubles. We all have our own battles we must face, you needn't worry as much as you do.”

Artorias nodded, clearing his throat slightly, as he somewhat awkwardly excused himself, immediately throwing himself back into his work. Ornstein sat there and watched, the blanket still tightly wrapped around his shoulders, his lips pressed in a line too thin to be anything but forced, and his hands clenched into fists beneath his sheets.

\- - -

When dawn broke, they quickly departed from the fortress, leaving a majority of their supplies behind knowing they would return before the day was over, one way or another. The chatter that had hung in the air yesterday evening during their trek was all but forgotten, the units moving in absolute silence as they navigated the woodlands, weapons in their hands, eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

Artorias led the group as he had been, Ornstein walking to his right to avoid the tip of his greatsword that rested against his left shoulder. He tightened his own grip on his spear, furrowing his brows slightly as the trees above parted for a brief moment due to the wind, allowing a harsh beam of sunlight to hit his tired eyes.

He hadn't slept well at all, finding it almost impossible after the conversation he had had with Artorias. He didn't want to create a repeat incident and trouble the younger man when they all needed him to be at his best, not preoccupied with worries that were miniscule in comparison. There was also the black dragon that had shown itself, something that caused irrational thoughts to readily creep into Ornstein's mind.

He spent most of the night lying awake, staring at the newly finished ceiling above him, his brain forming familiar patterns and shapes in the abstract detailing of the roof's finish. It hadn't been a productive evening by any means, but guilt and stress had kept his eyes open all the same. 

He surveyed Artorias for a moment, noticing how confidently the man strode through the foreign territory, his head held high and his weapon held proudly. He was grateful for the briefness of their conversation the night before, not that he didn't appreciate the gesture -although he reasoned that perhaps he had come across that way and that he would amend that much later- but to see no hesitation in the way the new knight conducted himself put his mind at ease, if only the slightest bit. 

They had bigger issues than Ornstein's self-perceived weaknesses, they were the last thing he wanted Artorias worrying about in such trying times, even if the sentiment meant a lot to him for reasons he couldn't begin to attempt to understand.

All was quiet when the sky began to tinge itself orange, the lake they were instructed to find having come into view at the foot of the woods where they currently stood. The old but familiar feeling of anticipation began to rise in the dragonslayer's chest, welling into a lump that formed in his throat. Artorias commanded everyone to a halt when they reached the waters edge before fanning out his hand, signaling for the men to do the same.

They quietly formed the formation Ornstein was beginning to become familiar with as they combed the shoreline, moving as quietly as possible until they reached a small cabin, the place where the reporting unit was stationed. Having caught no sight of any strange activity, Ornstein nodded his head toward it before making his way to the door, knocking several times to alert the sentries of their presence. 

After several failed attempts, Ornstein took a step back, observing the structure. There was no light emitting from the windows nor any smoke filtering out through the chimney, all but confirming that it was unoccupied. He turned to face Artorias, shaking his head silently and falling back to stand at his side. The taller knight surveyed the area for a moment before waving them on, past the tiny cottage, and further into the woods that surrounded the body of water that sat to their left. 

Anticipation turned to worry in Ornstein's mind as he cast a fleeting glance back at the structure. There was no reason for it to be abandoned, unless another incident had occurred that they were unaware of or something had happened to its occupants. Neither situation boded well for them, something the men seemed to understand as well. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, not even the sounds of water crashing over the rock beds or the usually pleasant hum from the insects detracted from that fact.

As they continued their forward march the air that smelled of flora attempting to come to life and out of winter's cruel gasp was completely masked by an odor so foul Ornstein had to bite his lip to prevent himself from vocalizing his immediate discomfort. Sunlight was beginning to make way for the darkness of night and the source was obscured by a heavy cover of evergreen flora that persisted through the cooler months, and Ornstein silently wondered what else the nature that surrounded them could be hiding. 

As the smell continued to become worse, the obvious scent of rot causing tears to sting in the dragonslayer's tired eyes, the sound of what could only be described as something _gurgling_ effectively silenced the group, their feet coming to a halt before Artorias had a chance to put up a hand to silence them. 

They waited with baited breath, the group tightening in on itself as they all surveyed the forest around them. To his left, Ornstein felt Artorias gently elbow him, successfully gaining his attention as the taller knight nodded his head in the direction he felt it was coming from. He nodded in response, quietly following after him as the other men trailed behind them, the clanking of their armor sounding louder than the roars of the Archdragons in Ornstein's mind. 

Abruptly, Artorias came to a halt, his hand gripping tighter on his weapon as the others, blind to what he was witnessing, repeated the motion. Ornstein did the same, ignoring the bitter smell in the air and the nerves that flooded his senses as adrenaline began to work its way through his system. There was another gurgle, this time much louder than the others, and then there was the sound of something Ornstein could not see wailing, screaming in what he knew to be inhuman agony as Artorias sank his blade in it, Ornstein forced himself past the tree he was standing by, pushing forward to finally confront whatever had led them there. 

To his horror, it was the pile of bodies. The bloated mass was covered in a thick, viscous liquid, oozing with looked to be blood and pus and a dark liquid Ornstein could not place. Various limbs stuck out from the mass, alongside what was once bright Silver Knight's armor, a set Ornstein would recognize anywhere, a set that explained the fate of the men who had reported their findings in the first place. The mass moved when Artorias' blade slid out from it, another screech emitting from somewhere within the creature before it did something Ornstein found both terrifying and fascinating.

It moved. 

Slowly, but surely, the mass crept toward them, what limbs that were not completely obscured by the array of fluids that covered it reaching out, as if it intended to grab them. Ornstein let out a hiss of air he didn't know he had been holding in.

“What is that?” He asked, his voice portraying the horrific sense of astonishment he felt. 

“I don't know,” Artorias replied, his voice dark, a tone Ornstein had never heard from him before. It sent a shiver down his spine. 

The flora the beast touched as its grotesque form moved toward them shriveled up at the contact, something Artorias seemed to note almost immediately as he spared a glance back at his men. 

“Don't let that thing touch you,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for questioning as the men made their way forward, weapons at the ready, though even from where Ornstein stood, he could see that most of them were visibly shaking.

Artorias took a step forward, sliding his greatshield off his back as his blade lightly drug against the floor of the forest. For a moment, it was silent, not a sound coming from Artorias or the creature itself -it was almost as if the forest itself had gone silent as well, all wildlife ceasing their usual vocalizations- before Artorias lunged forward, his blade piercing the beast once more, their ears being met with a deafening cry. 

Several men stepped forward then, attempting to follow Artorias' lead, but to Ornstein's shock, their swords bounced off the beast. Its hide deflecting their blows as if they were nothing more than branches attempting to penetrate a stone wall. He gripped his spear tighter before forcing it forward, the air around it creating a deafening boom as lightning raveled its way around the tip. It was a blow Ornstein remembered felled many Archdragons, and yet...his blow barely registered for the beast. 

Its tip sank in partially then came to a halt, as if it had hit an immovable force inside the creature itself. Ornstein felt his eyes go wide as he quickly glanced over to Artorias, watching in disbelief as he pulled the entire length of his greatsword out of the monster's skin, bringing with it bones and more of that viscous black liquid that smelled as foul as the creature itself did. There was silence for a moment as he kept his eyes trained on Artorias, than there was one, final deafening screech as Artorias sank his blade into it a third time, with so much force that the handle shook as he buried it completely inside the creature.

There was a flash of light, and then, it was gone. Leaving nothing but the sludge and the putrid smell it left behind in its wake, not even the armor from the knights remained, something the dragonslayer noted was odd. 

Ornstein vaguely felt his spear's tip hit the ground, unaware he hadn't dislodged it from the beast in the first place. He kept his eyes on Artorias, watching the taller man pant slightly as he steadied his weapon, his hands visibly shaking -whether it was from strain or fear, Ornstein couldn't tell.

“That...that wasn't it,” Artorias proclaimed, his voice surprisingly calm despite the small amount of hesitation he showed. “I think that was just its...victims.”

“Its victims,” Ornstein repeated, taking a small step forward, shaking his head in disbelief. “What did it do to them? The report said no substantial injuries were found on the bodies...it didn't mention whatever that was.”

“I'm unsure. Although...that liquid...I've seen some of the creatures I've faced cover bodies in it...I'm not sure what it does but if it'll reanimate a pile of corpses...” his voice trailed off as he spared a glance behind him. Ornstein was horrified with how normal he made this seem. 

“More importantly, how did you do that?” Ornstein asked, his hand reaching out to grasp Artorias' wrist, preventing him from carrying on any further and gaining him his full attention. Artorias glanced downward at him, his helm obscuring whatever he may have been feeling. “You saw our weapons, they didn't so much as make a dent in that creature.”

“I don't know, Captain,” came the reply, his voice suddenly sounding far away. For a brief moment, Ornstein could feel the fear that hid behind the weight of those words. “I just don't know.”

Ornstein tightened his grip on his wrist for a moment before letting go, slowly turning to face the men that stood behind them.

“Is everyone okay?” Artorias asked, his voice returning, somewhat shakily, back to its usual tone. The group collectively signaled that they were unharmed and Ornstein sighed out of relief, turning his attention back to his fellow knight.

“What do we do now?” 

“Whatever did that shouldn't be far off,” Artorias responded, surveying their surroundings. “I doubt it would go through all that effort if it planned on abandoning this area.”

Ornstein let out another sigh before opening his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by a shrill scream, one that sent a chill running down his spine. He snapped his head around to face the group that stood behind them, just in time to see a shadowy limb ensnare one of the Silver Knights, several men tried to stab their weapons through it to little avail, Ornstein himself rushing to his aid as quickly as he could but the moment his spear touched the creature's appendage, it pulled the man out of view. Upward. Ornstein raised his head, feeling a lump rise in his throat at what he saw.

The beast sat perched in the treetops above them, its malformed body coated in the same oozing obsidian liquid that had coated the creature Artorias had just felled. Its limbs were absurdly large for its proportions, what looked to be hair coated their grotesque exterior and in its front two arms was the now limp body of the knight it had snatched. From inside the corpse's armor, more viscous liquid began to emit itself, bubbling out from the gaps in between the metalwork. A set of glowing eyes, yellow in color, bore down at them, the two eyes almost completely taking up the space on the creature's bloated head. Ornstein had never seen something so foul.

“Get back!” Artorias commanded, the men, and Ornstein immediately back stepping until they were out from where the beast was perched. Ornstein tightened his grip on his spear, praying to all the gods he could think of that it wouldn't prove useless this time. If it did, he'd have the same odds of felling the beast if he were armed with nothing more than a tree branch.

Artorias stepped forward, his weapon already pointed and at the ready but the creature did not move from where it sat. Instead, it continued observing them, as if it were unsure what to make of the band of knights that stood below it, ready to put an end to its cursed existence. It stayed like that for quite sometime, occasionally making gurgling noises as it toyed with the body it held in its hand, seemingly unbothered by Artorias who raised his weapon higher in a feeble attempt to dislodge it from its branch.

Then, almost as quietly as it had emerged, it descended. It made no sound as it slid to the earth, carefully grasping the knight's corpse in its hands as the men worked to surround it. Artorias raised his blade and shield, prepared to engage, but then the body in the creature's hands began to move. Ornstein watched in horror as the corpse violently convulsed, sputtering out more liquid, before it was flung behind the creature, crashing loudly into part of the ninth company who stood behind the creature. 

There was a series of shrieks of pain that registered in Ornstein's mind before everything became a blur. The creature, finally recognizing the threat they posed, pounced. Its limbs thrashed into the men that surrounded it, its chilling, inhuman cries sending chills down Ornstein's spine as it sought to wreak destruction, blind with a rage he couldn't begin to understand. 

He raised his spear upward, lightning emitting from its tip before it crashed into the creature's hide. As he had feared, the beast didn't seem to acknowledge the blow, continuing its rampage as Artorias attempted to land a solid blow on it. Cursing, Ornstein tried to grab the creature's attention, if he could at least distract it for long enough, it should provide ample time for Artorias to try and hit it, but the being before them was unpredictable, turning its attention from one man to another without discrimination, spewing the black ooze from what Ornstein presumed was its mouth all the while. 

“Captain, get them out of here,” came a frantic, yet demanding call. Ornstein spared a glance at Artorias before returning his attention to the creature before them.

“Have you lost your mind?” He bellowed in response, shooting another bolt from his spear's tip and cursing aloud when it proved futile. 

“Captain,” Artorias called, his voice surprisingly calm despite its volume. For a moment, the beasts bellowing screams halted and the shrieks of agony from the men seemed to be drowned out, Ornstein watched his fellow knight carefully. “Please, trust me.”

Ornstein bit his lip, glancing around them at the number of men that had fallen to the earth and the equally large number that were backing away from the beast, eager to not meet the same fate as their fellow knights. “I will not leave you,” he replied, lunging for the creature, his spear scraping its viscous hide, not injuring the creature but earning him an annoyed shriek as it turned to take a swipe at him. At that moment, Artorias swung his blade, one of the beasts limbs flying off and into the woods at a pace that had Ornstein reeling. The creature bellowed in rage and agony as it turned back to face its true opponent. 

“Captain, please!” 

Ornstein paused, surveying the situation once more before he spared a glance to the area the beast's limb had fallen. He grit his teeth, his free hand balling into a fist. “Men, with me!” He called, waving his hand backwards as he began to back off, watching Artorias circle the beast with his shield raised, his sword dripping with a shadowy substance that looked different than the liquid that otherwise covered some part of the earth where they stood. He shook his head as the others joined him, dragging injured men with them by their hands and feet. 

“To the cabin,” he explained, ushering them onward and in front of him as he kept his eyes trained on the beast and the sole Knight of Gwyn that stood to combat it. The bodies that littered the earth caused bile to rise in the back of his throat but he bit it back, forcing his feet to continue backwards until he was sure the men had retreated far enough. 

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from his fellow knight and the creature, praying that it would not be the last memory he had of him.

\- - -

Fourteen men were dead, three more were clinging to life only by the miracles the casters had placed on them, holding their bodies together in what could prove to be a feeble attempt to save them. The cabin was empty as Ornstein had suspected it would be, but inside were enough medical supplies to treat their wounded and provide shelter for those in need of it. 

They had arrived over an hour ago, the exact time that the sun had disappeared behind the horizon as darkness settled in overhead. Ornstein sat on the cabin's front steps, his spear clutched tightly in his hand, although he felt useless even with it nearby, and a small lantern lit over his head. He kept his eyes trained on the forest ahead, continually searching for the outline of his fellow knight's armor in the darkness. 

Doubt ate away at his mind the more minutes that passed, while another part of him continually reassured himself that Artorias could handle it. That he had done this sort of thing dozens of times before, something that now that Ornstein had seen what he had to face, made him feel sick at his stomach. 

He cursed loudly, knowing the men inside would not hear him over the cries and screams of their comrades, as he removed his helm and tossed it down at his feet. Here he was, a Knight of Gwyn, and he was completely powerless to stop that thing or save the men that had followed them. He hadn't been able to do anything, or save anyone. He felt anger boil in his veins, an anger he never had to confront before, the feeling of helplessness a foreign concept to him.

When it had been dragons, he had slain them. If it were other people, he could best them in combat. But those beasts...he had been powerless against. 

This was far unlike anything they had ever encountered before. With no living witnesses to testify about the other beings abilities, it had been presumed that the scores of men who had died fighting them had died because they had not been skilled enough to slay the creatures, not that they had physically been incapable of damaging them at all.

The fact Artorias had slayed them now no longer just seemed like a feat accomplished by a great knight, but as if he were unique in some regard, able to do something no other man could do...which begged the questions _why?_ and _how?_. 

He'd have to pour over the reports again, go over every little detail of their case and presume that each beast was incapable of being damaged except by Artorias himself. He'd have to ask the other knight...his thoughts trailed off there, his gut wrenching as he gazed back out at the dark forest that laid before him. Moonlight reflected on the water down from the cabin, providing a little light to the surrounding area, but not revealing the silhouette Ornstein hoped to see, only illuminating the trees and bushes that always accompanied the forest's vast space.

He frowned, his fist clenching as he steeled himself for whatever may come. As he turned to head back inside to inform the men that he would be going out in search of his fellow knight, he heard the rustling of bushes and froze. 

“Captain?”

“Artorias?” Ornstein pivoted on his heel, his armored foot colliding with his helm as he turned to face the source of the voice, relief flooding his system as his fellow knight emerged from the treeline, visibly limping, which raised another kind of alarm, but alive.

“I'm all right,” Artorias called, sliding his helm off as he continued forward, Ornstein walking up to him to offer him a shoulder to lean on. “You're going to laugh if I tell you how I got hurt.”

“I would never laugh at you being injured,” Ornstein mumbled, wrapping Artorias' arm around his shoulders to help him balance as they approached the cabin once more. 

“Not even if I told you it happened not because of the beast but because it was dark and I couldn't see where in the gods name I was going?” Artorias questioned, his tone mockingly playful although the small smile he wore on his face didn't quite reach his eyes. Ornstein scoffed, shaking his head slightly.

“You're a damn fool,” he scolded, tightening his grip on him as they approached the stairs. “Don't you ever presume to order me to abandon you again.”

“My apologies,” there was a pause as Artorias pressed his free hand against the door, preventing Ornstein from opening it. He glanced up at the taller knight out of concern. “I wasn't going to let anyone else die because of that thing...it's my own fault that it-”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence,” Ornstein growled, earning a look of shock from his fellow knight. “It was not your fault and you know that.”

“Yes, well...it's been done, the beast is dead...and how many of our own are we going to have to bury?” 

Ornstein felt a frown pull on his lips, “nearly half if the injured do not pull through.”

Artorias' eyes drooped as his hand slid off the door, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes fell to the stone beneath their feet.

“I see.”

“It would have been much worse,” Ornstein added, his free hand meeting the door handles cool surface, “if it weren't for you.”

Artorias gazed up at him, a smile pulling on his lips, but it didn't fool Ornstein for he could still see tears in the corners of his eyes. The dragonslayer felt his chest tighten at the sight, the sadness in his companion's gaze freezing his hand in place. In a last ditch effort to comfort him, he grasped onto his arm tighter, his lips forming the only logical words he could think of in the moment.

“I'm glad you're alive.”


	4. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! My apologies for this being out much later than I would have liked. Unfortunately, I had some issues with my ISP that wound up taking days to resolve and by the time that finally came around, I had a plane to catch, but I'm finally home and with stable internet so here we are. Thank you all so much for the feedback regarding the question I asked last time, I've decided to keep with the original length of chapters since -as it was pointed out to me- starting smaller chapters would feel sort of odd considering the length of the previous ones. I hadn't thought of that but I couldn't agree more. 
> 
> Sorry if there are any errors in this I may have missed, it's rather late and I just want to get this posted. A proper read through/edit will take place in the morning although I skimmed over it already and corrected what I saw.
> 
> I'll stop rambling now, hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated. ^^

It was growing dark.

That was the first thing Artorias noticed as he took in his surroundings, finding a momentary reprieve from the aggressive onslaught, a moment of cover from shadowy limbs and seeping liquid. The sound of footsteps was gone, the others far away and safe, or at least he prayed. His arms were shaking, partially from the adrenaline, partially from a more primal instinct his kind had felt since before the first flame; fear.

He swallowed hard, letting his back rest against the trunk of a more sturdy tree as he tried to listen to the crunch of leaves and ice beneath the beast's feet and drown out the sound of his own heartbeat that rang in his ears. This one was different than the others, this one was far more reactive and perceptive, measured in a way Artorias had not expected. Its intelligence was frightening, its inability to be harmed by any others even more terrifying.

He couldn't think about that now though, not with the beast circling the tree to confront him once more, its shadowy limbs brought up in front of its torso in the same vain Artorias raised his shield to cover his own. He felt one of the limbs slam against it, his feet sliding back in the frozen mud as he was pushed away from the tree he had sought cover behind. Then, he felt something snake around his leg.

What followed after was hazy. He felt his limb snap under the pressure exerted on it, felt his lips move to form a horrific sound that sent a chill down his own spine, felt anger flare in his veins as he lashed out reactively, his sword immediately settling into something fleshy. Then, he heard a sound that covered whatever scream he had originally made and whatever noises had followed since. The beast wailed and he grit his teeth as he sank his sword in as far as it would go before pulling it free, bringing with it an array of fluids and clumps of gore.

He steadied himself on his shield, breathing heavily as he struck again, taking advantage of the fact the beast was still reeling from the pain. This time, his sword pierced into another part of it before coming out on the other side, Artorias felt his balance shifting and dropped his shield in favor of sinking the blade in further, wiggling it up and down in the process to deal as much damage to it as he could. He partially rested against the beast's body before yanking back on his sword, the beast letting out one final, angry cry before it dissolved.

He fell to his knees, wincing at the burst of pain that radiated from his shin as it hit the ground. He yelped as his fingers slid over the armor that hid the damage, in some places it felt as if the plate itself had been dented and was sinking into his skin. He felt sorry for the silver smith that would have to craft him a new set of leggings so closely after crafting the first pair he had been given.

With the last bits of sunlight he could still make out the dark sludge that covered the forest floor where the beast had once stood. It didn't dissipate, only continued to eat away at the earth beneath it, scarring the land with a permanent reminder of the being's existence. Artorias would have found it odd if he hadn't seen it happen before. Where it used to disturb him, he found himself comforted by it now. It meant the creature was dead, after all. It meant he could breath again, that no one else would be felled by it. It was a morbid comfort, but it brought relief to him all the same.

He knew he needed to cleanse the dark liquid from his armor and get back to the others but moving would be difficult in his current state. He pondered his options for a moment before sinking his sword into the earth and reaching out for his shield, securing it in the dirt as he used both objects to propel himself upward, willing his right foot to bare the full burden of his weight as he relied on his weapons to steady himself.

He whined every time the earth was uneven and he was forced to put even the slightest bit of weight on his injured leg, but he pressed on at a pace he found himself impressed with. His eagerness to cleanse his armor and prevent further injury to himself far outweighing his desire to slow his pace and grant himself a momentary reprieve.

When he heard the sound of water crashing against rocks he let out a sigh of relief, carefully lowering himself to the water's edge as he awkwardly collected water in his hands and used his gauntlets to scrape off the viscous black fluid. He squinted hard as he examined the fabric parts of his armor, the light from the moon reflecting off the lake just enough that he could see its color untainted from the creature's emissions.

He focused on his weapons next, frowning at the strange dark tinge that seemed to linger on both pieces of equipment despite his efforts to rid them of it. That, too, was not foreign to him. His old set had been dyed several shades darker every time he felled a beast of that nature, but to have his new set tainted so early after it had been forged brought a frown to his face. There were worse things, he knew. He could have died.

Other people did die, following his orders.

He felt his stomach churn at the thought, forcing back bile in his throat as he heard their screams in his head all over again. People died during battle, he knew that, he had seen it happen more times than he could count. But to have them die under his command was a different kind of pain, one he wasn't sure how to process. He felt tears sting his eyes as he stilled his movements, watching his reflection in the water below them.

“Please forgive me,” he breathed out, knowing that they could no longer hear him but hoping it would bring peace to their souls all the same. “I swear to you, your deaths were not in vain. They weren't...I'll....”

He shook his head, feeling silly for talking to himself and yet, feeling guilty for not continuing either. He tilted his head back, eyes taking in the night sky above him as he willed his eyes to dry out, shedding their final tears as he rose to his feet shakily, his sword and shield truly the only thing keeping him on his feet.

He followed the somewhat familiar path they had taken earlier until in the distance he could make out a small cabin, its windows tinged red with the obvious glow of fire from a hearth. He smiled to himself, thanking all the gods he could think of for the fact that he knew the others had escaped and made it there. Before he emerged from the treeline he heard a loud curse and glanced toward the front porch of the cabin, watching as Ornstein ran a hand through his hair, his distress apparent even from a distance.

Artorias came to a halt, feeling his lips pull into a frown as he continued watching him. He thought back to the night they had spent in the cavern, how he had reached out to wake his obviously distressed captain then immediately withdrew his hand and feigned sleeping when the other man had jolted awake, letting out a startled gasp. He remembered how he felt sorry for him then, how he himself had spent many nights walking the halls of Anor Londo after having nightmares, not interested in waking up the others or talking to anyone about what he was coping with.

He knew if he showed himself now, heavily relying on his weapons to keep him upright he'd only add to the regrets that kept his friend tossing and turning in his sleep. Ornstein would doubt himself, think about what could of happened if he had stayed behind and not left when Artorias had asked him to. Artorias didn't want to be the reason for someone else losing their peace of mind and confidence in their decisions, so with a great deal of effort he forced weight onto his foot and strapped his weapons on his back once more.

He nearly toppled to the forest floor immediately but managed to steady himself on a tree, letting out a jagged breath as he finally broke through the treeline, calling out for the other man. So he forced himself forward, biting back screams that tried to rise in his throat the more he forced himself to walk on his shattered bones. Willing to suffer, if only for a few moments, if only it meant preventing any further tragedy. 

Ornstein at least deserved that much.

\- - -

“The healer says you refused his help, why?” Ornstein asked as he sat at Artorias' bedside, obviously displeased with his choice. Artorias let out a sigh as he shifted, trying to get comfortable as he worked his chest piece off.

“Those men need him far more than I, Captain.” Artorias explained, “they suffered those wounds in the line of duty, my own clumsiness does not merit attention in comparison.”

“Your leg is broken,” Ornstein stated flatly, his eyes narrowing, “you very well may be the only who can defeat those things. If you aren't capable of fighting, let alone standing, there could be no one left to treat.”

“The threat is gone, Captain,” Artorias countered, guilt gnawing away at him as the lie persisted. Ornstein was right, he knew it of course, but his own stubbornness refused to let him change his mind. “Please do not fret, I assure you I'm fine and can wait until the morning.”

“If I ordered you to have that treated at once, would you listen?”

“Yes,” Artorias admitted, albeit with some hesitation. “Although, I'd prefer if you'd respect my wishes...just this once. I will not ask this of you in the future.”

“Let me see it, at least.”

“No,” Artorias said quickly, the words surprising not only the dragonslayer but himself. “I don't wish to remove the armor until it is to be treated. I'm afraid it will get worse if I do. I think the plating is partially...” he trailed off, feeling his face heat up as the Knight Captain raised an eyebrow.

“The plating...from a fall,” Ornstein spoke the words slowly, suspicion as obvious on his face as it was in his voice. Artorias remained silent. “Since you leave me little choice, I command you to let me see it. I'm not as adept at healing miracles as the others but I can mend a bone or two well enough to get you to Anor Londo.”

“Captain, I beg of you, leave it be.” Artorias pleaded, feeling flustered as his attempt at kindness backfired on him. It brought with it more shame than guilt, but the culmination of the two made his hands shake with anger, anger he could only direct at himself.

“I cannot,” Ornstein replied as their eyes met, Artorias shivered under the weight of the gaze that was offered to him. “Now, Artorias.”

With a sigh, Artorias' shaky fingers began removing the intricate metalwork around his thighs, setting it beside his breastplate on the floor. He took off the lower piece on his uninjured leg first before turning his attention to the other, hissing in pain as he tried to remove it, pieces of his skin coming off with it the more he pulled. He stopped when he felt a pair of hands swat his away.

“May I?”

Artorias nodded his head, resigning to throwing an arm over his eyes in an attempt to conceal the look of pain and guilt that otherwise decorated his face. He bit back a groan as the metal was carefully pulled back, listening to the intake of air that sounded from Ornstein as he finally removed the thin piece of metal and took in the sight of the wound. It was silent for a moment before the dragonslayer spoke.

“Why?”

Artorias didn't feel the need to ask for clarification, knowing full well what the dragonslayer wanted an answer to. Instead he dropped his arm, glancing at the man that leaned over the bed, one of his hands gently resting on his knee, the other holding his foot still.

“You looked upset,” he whispered, his voice low enough where the other men in the room would not hear him. “I didn't want you to worry more than you need to.”

“How did you walk on this?”

Artorias let his eyes trail down to his leg, which he had otherwise avoided looking at. His shin was discolored from the obvious break, but even more prominent was the massive imprint of the beast's maul, coloring his skin so deeply it looked more black than purple. He felt a shiver run its way through his body as he processed the image, forcing himself not to think back to the moment the beast grabbed hold of him.

“I didn't put weight on it until I showed myself to you. I used my sword and shield to pull my weight for most of the journey,” he confessed, his head dipping low. “Please forgive me, Captain..I had no intention of being dishonest with you. I just wanted....”

“It's all right,” Ornstein quickly said, the grip on his knee tightening a little but not enough to cause strain to the injury that lay below it. “No need to apologize...today has been hard on all of us. I appreciate the attempt to spare me from more duress, but Artorias, you mustn’t inflict further injury on yourself to spare someone's feelings.” Artorias locked eyes with him once again, the concern that was being shown to him causing more guilt to flood his system. “Especially not mine.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I know,” Ornstein hummed as he reached for something behind him, a catalyst, Artorias realized. It was different than anyone he had ever seen before, encrusted with gold and red linings in the shape of a bell, a lion carved into its surface. “It has been quite some time since I've found use for this,” Ornstein continued as he scooted closer to the bed.

“Where did you get that? I've never seen you carry it.” Artorias questioned as he tried to make himself comfortable, sparing a glance around the room and frowning when he realized it was much emptier than he would have liked it to be.

“There's a spot in my armor where I keep it tucked away,” Ornstein explained as he held it above Artorias' mauled leg, “I only ever take it with me when I'm out of Anor Londo, which is not often. The spear Lord Gwyn gifted me does fine with the offensive miracles I prefer to utilize, healing...I leave for this one.”

“Was it a gift from Lord Gwyn as well?” Artorias asked, instantly regretting it when Ornstein's face contorted and his breath hitched, as if the question had brought up an unpleasant memory.

“No...but it was a gift from someone that was once very close to me.”

Artorias nodded slowly, sinking backward into the bed as his back hit the bed rest. He halted his tongue then, letting the dragonslayer work in peace as he began reciting a tale that seemed more like a chant after awhile as the miracle went on. Golden light formed a ring around his injured limb, somewhat painfully mending the shattered bones and discolored skin. It was a slow process, one that would leave the wound sore for days afterward but leave his limb serviceable for their journey back to Anor Londo.

He watched the dragonslayer's brows furrow in concentration as the miracle tale neared its end, the pain in his leg fading into a dull sting as the dragonslayer quietly chimed the bell, the ring of light fading with it, leaving nothing but a small shimmer across Artorias' skin as the after effect continued to do its job. Ornstein let out a sigh, before running his hand over Artorias' leg, seemingly pleased with his work.

“You have my thanks, Captain.” Artorias offered, a small smile forming on his lips as the older man gradually looked up at him.

“You needn't thank me for it,” Ornstein replied, his lips pressed in a thin line which in turn made Artorias' smile fade. “Get some rest, Artorias. You will need it.”

Artorias watched in silence as the dragonslayer stood from the stool he had been seated on and made his way to the cabin's door, pocketing the chime and instead taking up his spear and helm before he left. Artorias gazed around the room once more, at the knights who were asleep, the ones who sat beside their injured companions, and at the healer who was huddled over the dying men on the other side of the cabin. He let his head slam back into the headboard and closed his eyes, too frustrated to sleep yet too tired to remain awake.

\- - -

“The seventeen brave men we say goodbye to today were of the noblest kind. They died upholding the vows they swore, to protect and serve this kingdom in the name of our Lord. It is with a heavy heart we send them off to the afterlife, where they may finally know true peace, free of all burdens and worldly ties that constrained them here in this life. They were our friends, our comrades, our brothers...they were brave and wise, kind, and strong. We say goodbye to them now, knowing that we will be reunited with them again one day when we too join them in death.”

Artorias took a step forward, lowering his torch so that the edges of the pyre were lit, the embers catching on the wood and cloth before it engulfed the corpses that sat on top of them. He let out a shuddered breath as he dropped his torch, adding it to the pyre.

“May the flames guide their way.” Came the resounding call from the rest of the men, who each stepped forward to say something respectful about those who had been lost.

During the Great War, such burials were impractical, not to mention impossible, but now that times had changed and things were less difficult, if only marginally, it was customary to bury the dead. This time, however, the earth was too frozen. As much as Artorias would have liked to have brought them back to Anor Londo to receive a burial there, it was impractical. So a pyre had been built instead, one that would send off the fourteen men that died in battle and the three gravely injured men that not even the god's strongest miracles could save.

He felt numb as he watched the flames lick the smoldering corpses of the men he had once known. He had shed tears for them twice the day prior but his eyes were dry now, as if they were too tired to form tears, or perhaps he was too tired. He gradually stepped back, leaving the remaining men to say their goodbyes as he came to stand next to Ornstein who was standing off to the side on his own.

“I barely knew them, I think it would be distasteful if I said parting words to them before the others.” He explained immediately, meeting Artorias' gaze. “Is your leg holding up all right?”

“Yes,” Artorias answered quietly.

“And you?”

“Pardon?” He asked quizzically, glancing downward at the dragonslayer in confusion.

“How are you holding up? This has been an utter disaster and we're returning to Anor Londo none the wiser. It's not your fault, of course, you're the only reason we're still standing here, after all. However, I think it's safe to say this is not the outcome we had hoped for.”

“I'm used to utter disasters, Captain,” Artorias chuckled, having to laugh at the irony of it all. “We learned at least one thing, I consider that a success all on its own. However, I think they'd disagree,” he cast a look back to the pyre before continuing, “Lord Gwyn might as well.”

“I've never felt so useless,” Ornstein murmured, earning Artorias' full attention. “There wasn't a thing that I could do...if it weren't for you....”

“If it weren't for your presence, things could have been much worse. Whether you want to believe it or not, just having you here has been a morale boost not only for myself but for the men. You led the men to safety and your quick thinking got them out of there alive and somewhere safe. You have been the furthest thing from useless,” Artorias reassured him, gripping onto his helm as he stared into the dragonslayer's eyes. Their golden hue looked darker than it usually did, he thought, as if muddied by the doubt that so obviously shown in them.

“I am used to shouldering the responsibility of grave things, but these...creatures of the dark...there could be no one better suited to their destruction than you, Artorias. I'm unsure what it is that allows you to do so, perhaps your kind heart is a weapon all its own, but I almost look forward to the familiarity of hunting down that black winged serpent. If my place is as a slayer of dragons, then you have most certainly found yours here.” Ornstein offered him a small smile, which Artorias returned.

“My offer still remains if you'd like for someone to accompany you,” Artorias reminded him as he flexed his leg, testing it before he shifted his weight to it, the small tinge of pain barely registering.

“Gough will surely go with me when I depart,” Ornstein answered, “while I'm sure your presence will be missed, you will surely need to be on standby in case anything pops up while I am away.”

“I'm sure Gough will enjoy the time away from the city,” Artorias replied with an amused snort, “the brief time we spoke before we departed, he told me he was so bored most days that he has now taken up wood carving.”

“I can only hope that he's improved,” Ornstein replied with a smirk, “when he first mentioned it to me, he presented me with what I thought was the carving of some sort of frilled lizard.”

“What was it?” Artorias inquired, raising a brow.

“A lion, apparently.” Ornstein snorted, earning a small laugh from Artorias. They were silent for a moment before Ornstein stepped forward, looking back at him. “It seems they're done...I'll pay my respects then be ready to depart on your command.”

“Of course, Captain.” Artorias frowned, reality washing over him. “Take your time.”

He watched the dragonslayer approach the pyre before turning his attention to his men. They stood all together, weapons strapped on their backs as they awaited further instructions, quietly chatting amongst themselves. Artorias let out a sigh before slipping his helm back on, approaching them afterward.

“We will depart for the fortress when Sir Ornstein has concluded his farewell,” he informed them as the chatter came to a halt. “We will rest there for the evening before making our way back to Anor Londo. If the snow is cleared up we will not stop again on the mountain side, so try to get a good night's rest tonight.”

There was a resounding chorus of “yes, sirs” which he acknowledged with a nod of his head. Ornstein joined them immediately afterward, fastening his own helm as he came to stand next to Artorias. Before the latter could speak, the rustling of bushes effectively silenced him.

The company of knights fell silent as well, leaving no sound but the crackling of the pyre to mask the sound that was coming from the brush. Artorias felt his heart rate pick up as he put up his hand, signaling the men to fan out and draw their blades as he in turn drew his own, his nerves causing adrenaline to course through his veins at the potential threat that lurked within the wooded area before them.

He approached the source of the sound as quietly as he could, his grip on his sword tight as he brought his shield out in front of him, prying open the bushes to reveal the source.

“It's all right, men,” he called as he sheathed his own sword and used his shield to further press back the bushes that obscured the small creature before him. He smiled to himself as he gently reached out his hand to it, the creature in turn leaning inward to him, observing him as it sniffed his hand, trying to determine whether or not he was a threat.

“A wolf pup,” Ornstein remarked, his tone slightly surprised. “What on earth is it doing so far from the mountainside?”

“The snows probably forced it down here,” Artorias responded as the tiny pup rubbed up against him, whimpering slightly. “It's awfully small, too small to be separated from its mother.” He scooted his right arm further into the shield so it freed up his other hand, scooping up the small creature in the process. He let the bush fall back into place as he situated it in his left arm, allowing himself time to re-secure his shield to his back.

“Perhaps we will stumble across its mother along the way back,” Artorias explained as he observed the pup in his arms. It stared back up at him with curious eyes, its paws -which were surprisingly large for its small size- pressed against his breastplate as if it wasn't sure whether or not it wanted to be clutched so closely to his chest.

“You're taking it with you?” Ornstein inquired, standing his spear up alongside him as he leaned on it.

“The ring Lord Gwyn presented me with depicted a wolf...perhaps it's no coincidence this little...” he paused, flipping the pup over -which led to it letting out a small yelp in dismay- “girl found me.”

“Perhaps not,” Ornstein concurred, coming up to observe the small being.

“I would not count on a lion appearing for you though, Captain. I've heard they're quite rare,” Artorias joked, letting the wolf settle in his arms. His captain gave an amused snort at the remark but Artorias could practically see his eyes rolling behind his helm.

The wolf pup in his arms let out another whine as he shifted it closer to his chest, cradling it in his right arm until the creature made itself comfortable, laying its head over his forearm as it looked up at him curiously. It brought a smile to his face, something he felt he needed in light of their current situation. A few of the men came up to observe her, earning small defensive howls in protest as she pushed herself further into Artorias' arms, earning several amused laughs for her effort.

Artorias was grateful for her presence and overall effect she had on what had been a somber mood the group had shared beforehand. It wasn't often they could indulge in the more simple pleasures in life, he almost forgot nature could be as calming as it was terrifying.

After the group had finished fawning over the small wolf, Artorias waved them to follow after him as he headed down the trail they had blazed the day prior, realizing that it already felt like they had spent a lifetime in the woods. Ornstein fell in step beside him, turning his head to observe the now sleeping pup in his arms.

“That has to be a great wolf,” he said as he pointed to the being's large paws that were wrapped around Artorias' arm. “A very young one, but in time, it'll grow to be a fearsome beast.”

“It's hard for me to associate the term _beast_ with something so tiny and innocent,” Artorias mused as spared a glance at the dragonslayer. “As much as I would like to find her mother, I also find myself hoping we don't.”

“You've become attached already?” Ornstein scoffed, earning a chuckle from Artorias.

“I'm afraid I have,” he admitted sheepishly, “I've heard of people keeping animals as pets...and I must admit I've always wanted one for myself.”

“A great wolf is hardly the same as a dog,” Ornstein remarked, despite his words his voice was borderline teasing.

“A great wolf will take hundreds of years to reach full size,” Artorias hummed in response, “if I take her to Anor Londo and Lord Gwyn doesn't mind her presence then she will hardly be an issue for at least a few centuries. If I'm alive when she reaches full size...well, that will be a problem I will deal with then, Captain.”

“Years go by more quickly than you think,” Ornstein responded, his voice thoughtful. “Don't speak as if you won't be around years from now.”

“I'm just being practical,” he responded, shifting his weight slightly to take some of the weight off his still-healing leg. “It's not as if we have any solid evidence to suggest what our lifespans could be. Most of our kind died young thanks to the dragons.”

“At least we age much slower than the pygmies,” Ornstein commented, “when Lady Filianore departed for the Ringed City, one of the pygmy's children that came to escort her there had aged significantly in the fifteen years I had not seen them. I can't imagine such a short life is fulfilling by any means.”

“A lot can be accomplished in fifteen years, Captain.” Artorias responded with a shrug, “if you seize every opportunity you can and forge ahead, you can make any life fulfilling regardless of how long you may live.”

“Perhaps,” the dragonslayer retorted, sounding unconvinced. “It's a matter of perspective, I suppose. There are too many things that require my attention that I couldn't hope to accomplish them all in such a small amount of time.”

“You have a lot of aspirations, Captain? What more could you want to accomplish? You're already the First Knight of the Great Lord Gwyn, the best dragonslayer of our age, and one of the most fearsome fighters that still walks this planet.”

Ornstein let out an amused snort.

“I'd like to triple that list of feats before I am willing to consider the end of my days.” He paused, as if lost in thought before he continued on, adding, “besides, I want to leave this world a place where people with the titles I held are no longer necessary. That is Lord Gwyn's dream after all. An age for our kind where we need not live in fear.”

“You're right, Captain.” Artorias hummed, sparing a glance down at the sleeping wolf pup in his arms before he took to surveying their surroundings. It would be mid day when they reached the fortress, after that the trek to Anor Londo would take a full day's march, but he was eager to get back. He had to remind himself to slow his pace and not strain his injured leg any more than what was necessary.

“Do you have any goals you have yet to accomplish that you feel that you must see to?” Ornstein asked. Artorias smiled, in a way, relieved they had moved past the point of small talk and were beginning to speak to one another about how they felt about things. It was pleasant, to feel so comfortable speaking to someone else.

“I want the same things, more or less,” he concurred with a slow nod of his head. “I want to bring peace to our kind as much as anyone. I suppose I don't often think about the other things I could want...I've always just done what was necessary with little regard for how it may effect me personally.”

“That's not wise,” Ornstein said, his voice revealing the slight bit of concern his helm otherwise obscured. Artorias gave him a thoughtful look, although it too was masked behind cloth and steel. “Although I suppose you know that, considering what you shared with me in the fortress.”

“Ah, yes,” Artorias hummed, biting his lip nervously. “There are things I regret, lives I could have saved, situations I could have avoided if only I had been more wise...however, we mustn't dwell on the past, yes? If we never made mistakes, we would never learn.”

“A moment of wisdom,” Ornstein said mockingly, feigning surprise. “And here I was, under the impression sarcasm and humility were all you were capable of.”

“I listen,” Artorias teased in response, a smile pulling on his lips. “You've made it perfectly clear you find me infuriating at times, so I figured I would keep you on your toes, Captain. There's much more to me than just bad humor and humility, that much I can assure you.”

“Well, aren't you full of surprises.”

“No more so than you,” Artorias shot back, feeling his cheeks heat up at the sound that came out of Ornstein's throat in response. He shook his head slightly, in a vain attempt to shake the blush from his cheeks. Yet, only the silence that fell between them after was able to eradicate its presence from his skin. Even still, the small smile that had made its way onto his lips refused to fade as they quietly worked their way back toward the fortress that loomed in the distance past the treeline of the forest Artorias was all too eager to leave behind.

\- - -

"Sif can stay," Artorias proclaimed as he stepped into Ornstein's office, biting back the exhaustion that settled in his bones with every step. They had just returned to Anor Londo and had traveled for a full day before arriving, the dull sting from his still healing wound had rapidly began to get worse the more he remained awake and on his feet, but alas, he had had matters to attend to and hadn't been able to retire for the day just yet. 

Ornstein nodded his head from behind his desk as he processed the news, still holding the small wolf pup, which Artorias had taken to naming after they were unable to find its mother on their return journey, in his arms the same way he had been before Artorias had been summoned to their Lord's throne room.

"Thank you for watching her, Captain. I hope she behaved." Artorias added as he took a step forward into the small office, reaching out to take the sleeping wolf from the dragonslayer's arms. 

"She was as well behaved as ever," Ornstein commented as he waved at the seat that sat adjacent from his own, Artorias all but collapsed into it. "I must admit I'm pleasantly surprised with how well behaved she is. I didn't think her capable of sleeping half the day."

"She's young, I'm sure that will change," Artorias responded with a hum, clutching Sif tighter to his chest. "I'm glad Lord Gwyn has given me permission to keep her here with me."

"What else did Lord Gwyn speak with you about?" The Knight Captain inquired with a raised brow, although all Artorias could take note of from the expression was the fatigue the older man showed. From his slightly slouched stature to the bags that cast shadows under his eyes, he looked more disheveled than Artorias had ever seen him. While he felt sympathy for the exhaustion he felt, Artorias found his thoughts going in a different direction, his face heating up when he took note of the dragonslayer's tousled hair. 

He balled his fists in frustration at his own train of thoughts while he forced himself to focus on the question that was being asked to him and less on the other's appearance, as distracting as it was to him in his tired state.

"He said he wasn't angry with us for returning none the wiser, he was just glad we returned at all, I think. The men we lost were discussed at great length as was the nature of the creature we've encountered. Scholars in the Archives have begun to investigate their appearances, it seems the whole kingdom is on edge...not that I can blame them." Artorias let out a sigh, relaxing further into the chair to alleviate some of his weight from his injured limb.

"He told me he'd keep me informed when he heard anything, but until I fully recover I'm not to be sent into the field, although I should be fine within two days time." He added on as he watched the dragonslayer nod his head in understanding.

"You should get some rest," Ornstein said as he leaned into his desk, his elbows resting on either side as he ran a hand through his hair. Artorias watched the motion with tired eyes, ignoring the comments his mind made to him, citing delirium in his head as the reason for their existence although he knew better than that.

"Captain, I...I know I should," he breathed out, awkwardly sparing a glance down at Sif -who had not moved since he had returned for her-, "but I...forgive me, it's nothing I wish to trouble you with. I shall take my leave."

"Don't," Ornstein growled, the word leaving no room for argument. Artorias cursed himself as a shiver ran down his spine. He really was tired.

"Don't do that or leave, Captain?" He asked, his voice quiet.

"Both of those things," Ornstein clarified. "What's troubling you?" 

"I just find it hard to unwind when so many events are replaying in my mind. In truth, I barely slept when we arrived at the fortress nor the night before in the cabin...I don't know what's wrong with me." Artorias confessed with an awkward laugh. In his arms, Sif turned to glance up at him, whining at the disturbance before drifting back off to sleep. Artorias found himself envious of the ease in which she completed that action. 

"Do you wish to discuss something?" 

"No," Artorias answered honestly, wincing slightly at the small ache that registered in his leg despite his still movement.

"Company, then?" Ornstein mused, raising an eyebrow. Artorias glanced over at him, once again taking note of the shadows that hung under his eyes. 

"I wouldn't take away from your sleep, Captain. I will find something to preoccupy myself until I find sleep a reasonable possibility." Artorias assured him as he shifted in his chair in a vain attempt to get more comfortable.

"I insist," Ornstein commented with a tilt of his head. "I was going to head to the baths before I rested, the warm water could do your leg some good and accelerate the healing."

"A bath sounds nice," Artorias admitted as he pondered his options. "You are certain I won't be disturbing you, Captain?"

"I'm certain, I wouldn't have extended the invitation if I had felt otherwise." Ornstein stood then, his office chair creaking as it slid across the stone floor. "I'll meet you there in five minutes, if you find that acceptable."

"Of course," Artorias hummed as he stood as well, wincing slightly as he rose to his feet. Ornstein shot him a pitying glance and Artorias felt his eyes drop to his feet, unable to return the gaze any longer. "If you would excuse me."

Artorias let his feet carry him out of the office and into the halls toward his new quarters, grimacing with every step as his leg protested against the weight that was being forced on it. Sif remained fast asleep in his arms and for that he was grateful. While he truly adored the small being, he was unsure what she would do while awake and unsupervised and the baths was truly no place for an animal. 

When he arrived at his quarters, he nodded politely at the sentries before entering, still finding it odd although its charm had already warn off for him. He briefly thought back to the eagerness in which the men who perished on their venture had bowed to him and felt his stomach tie in knots. Disregarding those thoughts, he gently laid Sif on his bed, wrapping a small blanket around the creature and smiling to himself when she barely stirred, settling in further to the warmth the fabric provided.

He slipped out of his armor and sat it alongside his already discarded helm, frowning slightly at the piece of metal that was missing from the lower left portion of his legging. He felt guilty for having ruined it so soon after receiving it, despite what Lord Gwyn said to the contrary. 

With his armor removed and only a tunic remaining, he grabbed a towel, a change of clothes, and a razor before departing, ignoring the mirror that sat in his room entirely. He nodded once more to the guards before heading toward the bath, letting his face contort momentarily as his leg all but pleaded with him to stop before he steeled himself in front of the bath's gates. He took in a deep breath before pressing his palms against the steel door, slowly opening it before he quickly stepped inside. 

The air was frigid and his feet were cold upon the stone that marked the way to the water's edge, but the steam rising from the deep blue pool that sat in the courtyard's center promised to provide the warmth he had otherwise been missing. A warm bath would do wonders, he thought, as he continued to watch the steam rise from the water's surface, his eyes momentarily switching to the sight of the moon that reflected off of the still water.

He sat down his things slowly, making sure to locate soap before he too slid to the ground, letting out a grunt as his leg crumpled awkwardly under his weight. He was so wrapped up in his task he didn't notice the other's presence until his name was called. 

Ornstein sat his belongings down on the adjacent side of the pool, shivering slightly as he slid to the icy rock that lined the water's edge. Artorias nodded his head in greeting before tearing his eyes away, giving the other privacy as he too worked his tunic off of his torso and his pants off his waist. He eased himself into the water and didn't even bother to stifle the groan that rippled out from his throat the moment his skin came into contact with the water's warm, welcome envelopment. He found himself chuckling when he heard Ornstein make a sound he reasoned was from satisfaction. 

"I always take this for granted when I'm away," Artorias commented as he reclined against the rock behind him, ignoring the cool sensation on the back of his neck. "When I return, however, I often find myself wishing I could stay in here forever."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Ornstein agreed before disappearing under the water's surface, Artorias hummed to himself as he reached down to access his leg, wincing slightly at the added pressure he exerted on his still healing skin. Although it stung, it felt better already from the water's warm embrace, he realized, the thought putting his mind at ease if only for a moment. 

When Ornstein broke the surface, Artorias spared him a glance, shaking his head slightly at the tiny gasp that escaped his Captain's lips as air once again rushed into his lungs. His hair appeared darker against his skin, heavy with water and clinging to his face in odd places, which Ornstein seemed to take note of as he pushed his hair back and relaxed against the rock face once more. Artorias offered him a small smile.

"I was beginning to think that you had drowned, Captain." 

"I enjoy the water," Ornstein responded flatly, although the small twitch of his lips at the comment was not missed by Artorias. "Not to mention, it's peaceful underwater."

"It is," Artorias agreed, slowly sliding down the rock he rested against, "if only everything was like that." He paused, his head partially exposed as he attempted to glance in his captain's direction, "peaceful, that is. Not underwater." He amended, smiling when Ornstein chuckled, before allowing himself to become submerged in the pool.

He ran his fingers through his hair, working out the days worth of grime that had accumulated on their journey before breaking the surface, finding his lungs not as adept as his companion's when it came to holding his breath. He looked over to the dragonslayer when he emerged, pushing his hair out of his face as he reached out with his other hand and grabbed the soap that sat behind him on the water's ledge. It was then Artorias noticed a thin, faint line crossing the other man's otherwise perfect skin that covered his toned chest.

"What happened?" He questioned as he pointed at the scar in question, working the lathered up soap through his hair with his other hand. Ornstein paused his own bathing as he spared a glance down at his own chest.

"This?" He questioned, earning a nod from Artorias before he continued. "A dragon," he began his face contorting for a moment before a look of confusion swept across his features. "I was...when I got it I was..." he paused, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Captain?" Artorias called out, concern flooding through him at the look that was on his friend's face. He looked genuinely... _disturbed_.

"I never gave it any thought," Ornstein continued, "while dressing or bathing I just recalled the beast that had inflicted it but now that you bring it up...I can't remember how it happened." 

"We all have scars we can't remember receiving," Artorias offered in a vain attempt to comfort him. He knew he'd never forget something that major taking up such a large space on his body, he doubted Ornstein had wanted to forget how he had received it...which brought up more questions Artorias had to continuously remind himself not ask.

"It's not that I don't remember," Ornstein corrected, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. "It's that I can't...it's there, the memory...I just can't put it into words."

Artorias raised a brow at that, feeling more confused at the confession and more concerned than he had been a moment prior.

"Forgive me, that must sound strange." Ornstein said before once again disappearing from the water's surface. Artorias watched the bubbles jet up from the water where he had submerged himself and frowned. He knew he shouldn't pry, but the more he found out about Ornstein the more questions that arose. 

He knew they were complex beings with their own traits, stories, and memories, all unique to themselves but he had never truly taken interest in anyone else's story before. At least, he corrected himself, not until now.

He spared one last glance at the bubbles before diving back into the water himself. All the while, telling himself it was so that the water could wash away the suds in his hair, when in reality, his mind was trying to wash away the color that had risen to his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably unnecessary timeline/lore explanation but given the story elements and rough timeline that DS3 and its DLC provided -and since the Ringed City was a gift from Gwyn to the pygmy lords after the war against the dragons concluded- I saw fitting to make mention of it (and it came in handy in comparison), this just helps establish the story's timeline and reinforces the theme of these events taking place when they do. There's some hopefully subtle hints in here as well hinting at further involvement from the pygmies as a whole but...we'll delve into that another time.
> 
> As for Sif, since their gender is never specified, I'm simply rolling with my headcanon that Sif is female due to the mythological ties their name provides. Either way, Sif is precious. :)


	5. Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! This chapter is slightly shorter than the others but a lot happens in it so I wanted to leave it at what I thought would be a digestible length. A lot of loose ends are tied up here with a lot of things coming full circle as well. This took me a bit to get out because while I knew what needed to happen, it was hard trying to find a way to express that, and that made me re-write it a few times. I don't want to spoil anything though, so I'll leave it at that. I hope you enjoy, and as always, comments and kudos are appreciated!

"You're leaving?" Ornstein paused his movements, his hand hovering over his helm that sat on his desk as he spared a glance at Artorias, who sat across from him. "But we just returned not a fortnight ago...."

"Lord Gwyn says that the people are on edge after what happened in the woods," Ornstein let out a sigh, "word travels fast I'm afraid. It's not only the abhorrent creatures keeping the people up at night, there is still that dragon to worry about...if we can at least eliminate one of those things from the equation, perhaps things will settle down, if only a little bit."

"I understand that, Captain. I'm just worried about your health, you've barely slept a wink since we've returned and now you're going to hunt a dragon?"

"Slay it," Ornstein corrected with a smug smirk. "There will be no prolonged hunt."

"Slay it," Artorias repeated with a raised brow. "Forgive me if I sound disrespectful, Captain, but in your current state, I don't think that's wise."

"I'm fine," the Knight Captain hummed, gripping his helm in his hands as he eyed the door that sat behind his companion. "It's not like I have much choice anyway."

"I'm sure if you asked for a few more days, Lord Gwyn would agree." Artorias commented, biting his lip as he too turned to look at the door.

"Your concern is truly touching, Artorias. But I'll be fine, I promise. Gough will be there with me. Together we've slain more than our fair share of those beasts, you-"

"'Needn't worry as much as I do'," Artorias finished for him, earning an eye roll for his effort, although it brought a smile to the dragonslayer's face.

"Precisely," Ornstein responded standing up from his seat. Across from him, his companion frowned. "I know it's hypocritical of me, considering how I reacted on our venture and afterward, for that matter. But in the same vain that I trusted you in the woods, trust me now. I'm no stranger to the dangers of dragonslaying, Artorias. I am more than capable of handling this."

"I know you are," Artorias mumbled, his voice quiet. "Just be careful, Captain."

"You have my word," Ornstein replied with a small smile as he walked to the opposite side of his desk, his hand reaching out to grip his fellow knight's shoulder. "Should you depart before I return, be safe, Artorias. I'd be..." he paused, mulling over his word choice before continuing, "I'd be displeased to learn something happened to you upon my return."

"Just displeased?" Artorias challenged with a raised brow, glancing up at him with a small smile.

"It sounded better before I vocalized it," Ornstein explained awkwardly, kicking himself. "Just...be safe, Artorias."

"I will. You be safe too, Captain." Artorias replied as he got to his feet, Ornstein reluctantly letting his hold on his arm go. "I will pray for your and Sir Gough's success. I look forward to seeing the beast's head mounted on the walls."

"As do I," Ornstein hummed with a small smile, offering his companion one last glance before he slipped on his helm and moved toward the door. Artorias followed him silently. "Until I return, if you need guidance with anything, you'll have to confer with Ciaran or our Lord. I pray you needn't have a reason though, maybe for once we can have a few quiet days...."

"That would be nice," Artorias said thoughtfully with a slight tilt of his head, pausing at the fork in the hallway when Ornstein did. The dragonslayer observed him for a moment, thankful that his helm concealed his face as he felt his cheeks heat up due to the genuine concern Artorias was showing him. It felt nice, he realized, to have someone else looking out for your best interest. "Good luck."

"Until I return," Ornstein nodded, the statement serving as his parting words as he excused himself. For as much as he longed to stay, he had a duty to fulfill, one that could only be upheld if he left the comfort of Anor Londo once more.

\- - - - -

"Kalameet, the locals have taken to calling him. It was written off as mindless chatter since no proof was ever presented...but perhaps we need to pay more attention to rumors in the future." 

"Perhaps," Ornstein concurred with a slight nod, glancing up at Gough who walked beside him. They had traveled a full days march south of Anor Londo, down yet another mountain that surrounded the city, and had arrived at a valley that bore striking similarity to the one Ornstein had just returned from not a week prior. 

It made him uneasy, although he reasoned he should feel that way regardless of the parallels. After all, it was a dragon he was after. One that could cleave him in two with a single swipe of its massive maul, or turn his flesh into nothing but ashes in a burnt gold suit of armor. Despite himself, he shivered at the thought.

"You're not very talkative," Gough commented roughly, sounding more disappointed than displeased with the fact. Ornstein let out a sigh.

"My apologies, my friend. There is a lot that is weighing on my mind these days," he admitted, slightly picking up his pace to keep up with the giant's long strides. "Hopefully this will be one less thing to worry about. I do hope the years of inactivity haven't left you rusty."

Gough let out a thunderous chuckle, "I am still the best shot this world has ever seen. I'll pluck that wicked beast down from the sky with a single shot, and you will handle the rest."

"You always did enjoy leaving me with the lion's share of work," Ornstein commented with a sly smile, one Gough could not see, but one he was certain the giant would feel.

"Only fitting for a lion," Gough remarked in a matter of fact tone as he pointed to a section of the woods where several trees had been felled. "Bet you he came that way, probably flew too low to the ground and ripped them right from dirt."

"I can hardly tell if you're serious at times," Ornstein replied with a sigh, his companion letting out yet another bellowing laugh. 

"Artorias told me teasing you was always a sure fire way to get you talking, said he drove you mad half the time but that it worked all the same." 

Ornstein tilted his head as he looked over to his fellow knight.

"Did he now?"

"Talks about you an awful lot," Gough continued, looking down at the other dragonslayer as he shrugged himself. "Probably kisses the ground you walk on, that one, but he's a good lad. Strong as a dragon himself, I hear. You pick them well."

"Whether he admires me or not had nothing to do with his promotion," Ornstein clarified, rolling his eyes, ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach at Gough's prior comments. "He's a very ca-"

"Capable knight," Gough finished for him. "Yes, he is. Ciaran is good, too. You did well, my friend. I enjoy their company, but I must confess I have missed our conversations as well."

"As have I," Ornstein said, his tone thoughtful. "I'm sorry I don't make as much of an effort as I should...I could make excuses and say my work keeps me up at all hours of the night and that we frequent completely different spaces in the castle...but there's no excuse for me secluding myself the way I do. I hope you do not hold it against me."

"You and I have got on well since we met," Gough chuckled before taking a deep breath, his tone more serious than Ornstein had heard it for quite some time, "I could hardly stay angry with you. Besides, you've been through a lot, Captain. Sometimes we need time and space to heal our wounds and clear our minds...and hearts. Even forgetting can be painful."

"Gough?" Ornstein paused, coming to a halt on the trail they had blazed and watching his companions movements. Gough didn't stop, only continued onward as he waved for Ornstein to follow him, paying the other's obvious confusion no mind. 

"Now is not the time, Captain. We have a dragon to slay." 

Ornstein felt his lips press into a thin line and he forced himself to take a shaky breath, contemplating what he was being told before ultimately, caving in and following after the taller man. All the while his mind raced to make sense of the words his friend had told him, but he only grew more frustrated when he found they held no significance. At least, he reasoned, not one he could recall.

\- - - - -

"We should set up camp here, the outlook over the valley should be suitable for our needs." Ornstein commented as he stretched his back, having sat his bag of supplies down by his feet. Gough came to a halt beside him, peering around at their surroundings for a moment before answering.

"A wise choice, we will see Kalameet coming a mile away," the giant proclaimed as he sank to the grass that sat below them, a loud thud echoing around them as he did so. Ornstein shook his head.

"Try and be more quiet," he scolded as he gazed at his long time friend, who was nearly his height even while seated. Ornstein briefly wondered if that was how Ciaran felt every time she was around himself or Artorias, he imagined it was even more awkward for the little assassin when she was with Gough. The mental image brought a small smile to his face.

"So, Gough, tell me," he began as he got off his feet and sat with his back pressed against a large rock that occupied the otherwise open space. "Aside from the overall pleasantries and idle chatter, how are you feeling about our other fellow knights?"

"Ciaran is good company, she likes to walk the ramparts in the early hours of the morning for exercise, she always brings me tea." 

"That's very kind of her," Ornstein mused as he took off his helmet, sitting it beside his bag and spear that lay forgotten on the dirt beneath them. 

"She struggles to bring me a glass big enough to drink from, I tried to tell her she didn't need to worry about me, but she insists." Gough chuckled, "she's almost as stubborn as you."

"At least we are stubborn for the greater good and not for our own benefit," Ornstein remarked, earning a laugh from the giant beside him.

"Making things harder on yourself is not doing anything for the greater good, if anything, it's just punishing yourself for no good reason." Gough responded, his tone challenging. Ornstein raised a brow at that.

"She's just doing you a kindness," he commented, biting his lip when his companion shook his head.

"I wasn't referring to her, I was talking about you."

"First you tease me, now you insult me, have you lost your manners entirely? Do I need to enroll you in etiquette classes...again?" 

"Now who's teasing who, Captain?" Gough chuckled, earning an eye roll from Ornstein, although he was far too amused for it to be serious.

"Unbelievable." 

"I know you too well, Ornstein. Don't be uptight," Gough snickered, casting his eyes back toward the valley that surrounded him. "I told you already what I think of Artorias, he's a kind lad, always eager to help and please. He's fond of you, you know."

"Considering the amount of time he spends in my company, I would be amazed to learn he secretly loathed me," Ornstein replied with a small shrug, reaching for his travel bag to fetch some of the packed food they had brought with them.

"I'd almost say it's sweet the way he idolizes you, although I'm not sure that's what it is at all."

Ornstein paused his motions, turning to his companion with a raised brow.

"What are you eluding to?"

"Not a thing, it's not wise to gossip about fellow knights."

"We are hardly gossiping, I am merely a superior officer making an inquiry about the state of my forces and their cohesiveness as a unit." 

Gough let out a deep chuckle, reaching over to fetch a cloth that contained dried meat before replying, "of course you are, my apologies."

Ornstein sighed, reaching for his own portion of meat and bread as he relaxed further back on the rock that provided his back with support. They ate in relative silence after that, Gough continuing to survey the land, while Ornstein took to dissecting each word that came out of the giant's mouth in the moments prior. That seemed to be a recent trend, he noticed, how Gough would say something and he'd be left mulling it over in an almost brooding silence until they would speak again and the cycle would continue.

He felt his brows furrow in frustration at the mere thought of it.

"How ridiculous," he mumbled under his breath, taking a bite of the food he secured for himself. Gough turned to look at him.

"Pardon?"

"It's nothing."

\- - - - -

It had been three days with no sign of the beast, when suddenly, it emerged from just beyond the mountains that laid in the distance. Ornstein had awoken to the sound of Gough's bow being strung as the giant archer pulled back on the draw string, ever so patiently waiting to see where the being would go once it completed its descent. 

Ornstein sat quietly, working the last bits of sleep out of his eyes as he trained his eyes on the dragon's frame, watching it grow larger and larger the closer it got to where they rested. The hill they had set up camp on provided a good outlook on the forest and the lands beneath it, an ideal perch for a sniper like the second Knight of Gwyn. Ornstein knew without a doubt that if it came their way, Gough would indeed strike it down. It was what came afterward that brought uncertainty, and with it, fear.

What felt like an eternity passed as the beast completed its downward dive, eventually evening out before it hit the ground before it, as they had hoped, headed in their direction. Ornstein hastily, and as quietly as he could, slipped the remaining portions of his armor on before getting to his feet and standing next to his companion, watching both Gough and the beast, waiting for the inevitable. 

"Just a little more," Gough said calmly, seemingly unbothered by the tension he was exerting on the bow's string or the rare opportunity he was being presented with now. If he missed, it was unlikely the dragon, Kalameet, would make the same mistake again. His calm demeanor was more of a testament to his skill than all the awards and titles he had ever been given, Ornstein mused to himself, keeping quiet until he saw Gough release the arrow.

It soared through the air with a deafening boom, arching forward and right into the dragon's path, Ornstein felt his eyes widen in anticipation, and awe, as the the bolt sank into the beast's flesh. The dragon let out a horrific screech before plummeting downward, a resounding _boom_ signaling when it finally hit the ground below it. 

"A truer shot there never was," Gough proudly proclaimed, letting out a laugh. "He's all yours Ornstein."

"That will never cease to amaze me," Ornstein confessed before letting out a sigh, reality washing over him as his task had yet to truly begin. "Help me track the damned thing, at least." 

"All right," Gough sighed, slinging his bow over his shoulder, "when we do find him, I'll wait a ways away in case you find yourself in need of aid. I'll try to provide support, however, although I trust my aim, I would not shoot in your direction, Captain. I'll leave the fighting to you."

"Very well," Ornstein said solemnly, reaching for his spear as he snuffed out the remnants of their campfire with the tip of his boot, covering it in ash. He felt his stomach churn at the sight. "Let us be going then."

They moved in relative silence as they worked their way down the hillside and towards the ravine in which the beast had fallen. As they approached its approximate location, Ornstein took to observing his surroundings more thoroughly, listening for any distinct sounds that would give the beast's location away. After an hour of vigorous searching, he heard what he had been searching for in the form of a low grumble, a roar, undoubtedly, one formed from a great deal of pain and discomfort. 

He waved for Gough to follow after him as he approached its source, his feet hitting the ground silently although his companion wasn't faring as well when it came to stealth due to his stature. They eventually came to a small waterfront, one eerily similar to the lake Ornstein had seen on his last outing, but they moved past it, tracing the sound to a small drop off past the water, and within the ravine below it lay the beast they had been searching for. 

"Kalameet," Ornstein said quietly, shooting one last glance at his companion before taking a tentative step onto the steep rock face he was confronted with. As he worked his way downward, the beast, seemingly alert to his presence, hissed in warning, rearing backwards and puffing its wings out to give no illusion about its tremendous size. Ornstein let out a shaky breath before judging the rest of the distance until he would reach the bottom, deciding to jump when he realized it wouldn't pose any risk to himself.

His feet hit the dirt with a small thud, his spear already pointed outward and at the ready as he stood tall, sizing the beast up for a moment as it too observed him. There were several notable things about its appearance that Ornstein immediately felt were alarming.

For one, the tone of its scaly hide, as black as the night sky, secondly, the amount and size of horns that covered its massive body, some appearing to be as long as he was tall, but the one thing that caused the grip on his spear to tighten was the singular, red eye that peered back at him. The beast fell silent, seemingly understanding why it had been shot down as it took in the sight of the man before him. Ornstein felt small under its gaze but forced back the fear that tried to rise in his chest and then, he moved toward it.

It was a calculated move, one he had preformed time and time again in the war in which he had earned his title of dragonslayer, one that alluded to far more aggression than he was prepared to deal as an opening move. He charged forward, the beast's massive wings fanning out as it opened its mouth, a black ball forming in its throat, ready to fire in his direction, but he came to a halt, quickly calling forth a bolt of lightning that he sent flying toward the beast. 

Kalameet appeared unfazed by this, as if the change from physical to magical attacks did little to concern him, despite his species inherit weakness to the element being sent his way. Although it did it with great effort, it moved, just enough that the bolt was sent into the rock wall behind it, shattering the earth it hit with a deafening boom. Ornstein narrowed his eyes.

"Black flames, I see," he muttered to no one in particular, "I would expect nothing less from you." He raised his spear again, contemplating his options as he watched the dragon continue to observe him. Kalameet seemed content to play the defensive, and although it was injured, it could still move in time to dodge a well placed sunlight spear, which was another thing Ornstein reasoned he needed to take into account. 

He'd be forced to play the aggressor, putting himself at an immediate disadvantage, but if he didn't he was unsure Kalameet would ever take the initiative in its current state. A wounded dragon was a more dangerous dragon, deadlier, more than aware of what was at stake. He took a deep breath before sparing one last glance at the beast before he moved, "have it your way then."

He rushed toward it then, spear raised and a bolt already forming at its tip as he worked to close the distance, knowing full well that if he played the long game or tried to work at a distance that he'd be at a distinct disadvantage, but Kalameet seemed to be aware of that fact too, letting out a breath of smoldering, dark flames that licked the ground as they rushed toward him in return. He cursed, changing his course slightly as he tried to circle to the beast's other side, narrowly managing to do so before a smile rose to his lips. 

He felt the overwhelming surge of power from the miracle forming on his weapon's tip before he dove it straight into the dragon's thick, scaly hide. Kalameet let out a fearsome screech, shaking violently as a small section of scales broke off his skin and crumbled to the earth, shattered and useless. As Ornstein moved to force his spear into the exposed flesh, he was instead forced to step away as Kalameet took an angry swipe at him, its red eye glowing more strongly than it had before. 

Ornstein pivoted on his heel, back pedaling without taking his eyes off of the beast before him as he steadied his spear, calling forth yet another bolt from his weapon that he sent flying into the dragon's thick hide. He watched more scales fall to the ground, crumpling into dust as they broke away, leaving more skin exposed. Kalameet turned angrily at him, sending a barrage of black flames his way, ones he dodged with no small deal of effort, the beast's tracking being as remarkable as its outward appearance.

They would be at a stalemate at this rate, he knew. He could continue to bombard the dragon with bolts and it would spew its fire and swing its massive claws at him to keep him at bay, never leaving itself too exposed, never giving him a proper chance to close the distance. It would be a matter of who would tire first, a true battle of attrition. One Ornstein knew he could win, but one he knew wouldn't be an easy victory.

Kalameet was severely injured at this point, several large sections on its body were left bleeding, one from the bolt that stuck in its skin, the others from where the miracles had grazed its skin after parting its scales. Yet, to Ornstein's surprise, Kalameet seemed unbothered by its condition. The beast still fanned its wings out, marking itself as a threat, still sent fire his way, and still drug its injured body across the expanse of the ravine they both found themselves in.

It was remarkable, if not horrifying, how resilient the dragon was. It was no wonder it had survived as long as it did.

Ornstein sighed, realizing they were going nowhere fast if he didn't continue to play the role of the aggressor. So he allowed himself to try and close the distance once again, his feet carrying him quickly over the gap that stood between the dragon and himself, the one who had been sent to slay it. Kalameet's massive, clawed paws sunk into the dirt, as if to steady itself, before it lunged back at him, its paw narrowly missing Ornstein as he slid in the mud beneath him. 

It was then that Kalameet turned its head, its eye glowing more strongly than it had been earlier, a ring of red light emitting from within its core. Ornstein felt his hand tense up as he watched it, felt his eyes drifting back to the taloned paw that was coming back his way and then felt his thoughts begin to wonder. 

He bit his lip, confronted with a crushing feeling he had never felt before, one in which time seemed to freeze as his mind forced his consciousness elsewhere. He tried to fight it, tried to repress whatever threatened to boil up to the surface, but its influence over him was too great. He felt his vision sway, felt his feet still their motions in the dirt as his eyes refused to focus on anything, Kalameet fading out of sight although the beast still stood before him.

_"Are you all right?" The figure shouted at him, sparing Ornstein a glance as he pulled a massive blade out of the felled dragon's head. Ornstein nodded, ignoring his aching bones as he surveyed the chaos that surrounded him._

_"Where are the others?" He asked, his voice loud enough to be heard over the crackling of bolts and screams of both men and dragon alike. The figure shrugged._

_"They're somewhere, you needn't worry about them. Let's see if we can assist any of the nearby units, I'm sure you're not the only one who needed help."_

_"I did not need help," Ornstein scoffed as he pulled his spear from the earth, ignoring the chunks of gore that rested on its point. "I had this."_

_"You're exhausted," the figure said flatly, "you were running out of stamina and that one wasn't about to back down, you could have been killed."_

_"I wasn't though," Ornstein replied stubbornly, the man in front of him shook his helmet covered head._

_"You're right, you can thank me later."_

_"Must you always be insufferable?" Ornstein scoffed, his feet carrying him away from the stationary figure and toward where he knew the closest unit would be fighting. The other man followed after him._

_"Must you always be so stubborn? It's fine to ask for help, it's fine to receive help...you're not impervious, Ornstein...and I'd hate to have something happen to you."_

_Ornstein paused, glancing over at the man beside him._

_"I was afraid you'd lose out that one, I don't mean anything insulting by it...I just wasn't going to risk it. If I stood by idly and something happened to you I would never forgive myself. What would become of me if something took you away? I don't even want to imagine...."_

_"This is hardly the time nor the place..." Ornstein began only to be silenced by a shake of the other man's head._

_"It never is, Ornstein. Not while we fight this...senseless war..."_

_"Senseless? How could you say such a thing?" Ornstein felt his free hand ball into a fist, "all this talk of the pointlessness of why we're fighting...have you gone mad? We're fighting for our right to live, how could that ever be senseless?"_

_"Wouldn't you rather it end?"_

_"Tell that to them!" He bellowed angrily, "enough of this nonsense."_

_"It doesn't always have to be this way, Ornstein...." his companion sighed, his voice sounding tired._

_"Apparently, it does." Ornstein huffed as he turned away from his companion, his feet continuing on the path he had originally set for himself. "I'll hear no more of this."_

_"I wish you of all people would listen to me..." the figure said quietly, his voice barely audibly over the roars and deafening screams. Ornstein felt a shiver run down his spine but chalked it up to rage and exhaustion._

_"You know I'd ne-" his word cuts off with the sight of giant talons tearing through the air, directly toward his companion. Whatever words he was going to say to died in his throat as he shouted one, distinct word, one he could not hear but felt his lips make. At the same time, he felt his hands reaching out to push the other man to the dirt beneath him as the beast's talon collided with his own chest, ripping through the plating as if it were made of cloth and not hardened steel._

_He felt his spear drop from his hand, pain registering in his mind as his companion, having recovered from the shock of being thrown to the ground, called out his name._

_"Ornstein!"_

__

"You..." he called, coming out of his haze, his eyes stinging and chest aching with a familiarity he had long since forgotten. His spear tumbled to the ground beside him, his current situation not dawning on him until he heard Gough scream his name.

"ORNSTEIN!"

Pain. That was all he could register as he felt a sharp claw rip through his suit and straight into his skin. He could feel his muscles split under the pressure, breaking apart from each other as if they were no longer aware of what cohesiveness was as the unnaturally sharp piece of hardened keratin tore his chest open. He hit the ground with a thud, his lips forming an awful sounding groan as his body attempted to process the trauma it had just endured. 

His eyes screwed shut and refused to open, his hands shook and clawed desperately at the dirt and grass beneath him, and above all he could hear the dragon, the one he had been sent to slay, not the one that had come back to haunt him, huff a breath of hot air. He felt his lips press into a thin line as he braced for whatever came next, his mind flashing him a thousand images of a thousand faces as it prepared him to meet his end. 

He thought of his lord, sitting idly on his throne, although he bore a great deal of burdens that no one else would ever have to see. He thought of Gough, watching him from where he stood on the cliff side, of how horrified the man must be to have to witness this sort of end once more. He thought of Ciaran and her band of assassins, and he wondered if she was currently helping herself to a glass of her favorite tea before she got to work for the day.

He thought of Artorias, and felt his eyes sting even more, his fists clenching the grass more roughly than he had before. He wondered if he was still in bed, or if he was taking Sif on a walk around Anor Londo. Or if he was in the field somewhere, on the hunt for a creature that made a habit of bringing misery with it everywhere it went. 

He thought of Artorias in the training yard, breaking an alarming amount of training dummies and always insisting that he paid to replace them himself. Thought of the way he filed reports with a contemplative look on his face and the way his idle hand always tapped on the desk as he wrote. Thought of him in the bath and the way the water had stuck to his ivory skin and how his smile had soothed the mental images Ornstein had been combating since they had returned that one fateful day. He thought of their promise, thought about how he wouldn't be able to keep it.

Lastly, his mind fell to the man responsible for him being where he was now. Bleeding, his consciousness fading as a dragon loomed over him victoriously, ready to make a meal of him. He thought of the smile he could never forget and wondered what other memories they had shared that he could no longer place. He'd always remember what he did, but what they did...he wondered if he'd ever know. 

He wondered if he was safe amongst his dragons, or laying in the lavish bed he had envisioned earlier in the month when he had come to mind. He wondered if he somehow knew something had happened to him, although he reasoned that would be absurd. He wondered if he knew about Kalameet. Wondered if he'd care more if it had been Kalameet laying on the earth, dying from exsanguination. The thought made his stomach churn.

It didn't matter anymore, he realized, and with a raspy outtake of air, he closed his eyes, hoping unconsciousness would take him before the beast above him would.

\- - - -

He awoke with a low groan, all too aware of the ground moving beneath him, and the pain that settled in his abdomen. He felt a hand tighten on his back and he reluctantly opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh ray of light that greeted him.

"Captain, stay still." Came a demanding call, one he was eager to obey considering the immense amount of pain that washed over him with every small movement he made in the giant's arms. 

He felt sick, exhausted, as if he were going to break in two and fall apart at any moment. He felt angry, angry at the dragon, angry at himself. But he knew he couldn't focus on that now, that those exact feelings were what landed him where he was now, and so he willed them away, swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked until his eyes no longer threatened to spill forth tears. Instead, he forced himself to think instead of his duty, the one he had failed.

"Kalameet?" He questioned, his voice raspy and tired.

"I had to let him go," Gough retorted, "took a dozen arrows to get him to back away from your body...I wasn't going to try my luck."

"I'm sorry," Ornstein replied quietly, still fighting back the emotions that tried to bubble to the surface. "I'm such a fool. What will I tell our Lord?"

"You're alive, that's all that matters, my friend." The archer said with a sigh, quickening his pace despite the groan of protest that sounded from Ornstein. "We have to get you back to Anor Londo, I can't afford to slow down, Captain. Forgive me. As for Lord Gwyn, we will tell him not of your lapse, but of the sheer power that was the Black Dragon Kalameet."

"All right," he said through gritted teeth, ignoring the anxiety that rose in his chest at the thought of being dishonest with their lord. Instead of dwelling on it, he forced the conversation elsewhere. "Gough, tell me...how bad is it?"

"The only reason you're alive right now is thanks to that chime you keep in your armor," Gough replied, his tone grave. Ornstein let out a shrill laugh, the irony of it all hitting him all at once, his emotions becoming too great to ignore in his pain induced, delusional state. It was like a sick joke, he thought.

"Those memories we're almost the death of me...." he confessed, feeling tears sting his eyes as he recalled their contents and the events that had transpired before he had lost consciousness. He let them fall freely, too tired and in too much pain to attempt to wipe them away. If Gough saw them, he made no remark about their presence.

There was a moment of silence in which his companion tightened his hold on him before speaking once more, his words serving as a send off as Ornstein drifted back to sleep, finding some semblance of comfort in his friend's strong embrace.

"Sometimes it's better if we don't remember."


End file.
